








LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 


Chap.'PZri) Copyright No.— 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 













































A STEPDAUGHTER 
OF ISRAEL. 


BY 

Robert Boggs. 
I* 


K. TENNYSON NEELY CO., 
New York. London. Chicago. 

U' 


90199 


Ulbrary of Oon(4r«t)s 

' t 

Two Copies Received 

DEC 18 1900 

Q Copyngnl entry 

SECOND COPY 

0«fiv«f<ed to 

ORDER DIVISION 

. JAN 4 1901 


COPYRIGHT 1900 
BY 

F. TENNYSON NEELY CO. 
IN 

UNITED STATES 
AND 

GREAT BRITAIN 


ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 


A STEP-DAUGHTER . OF ISRAEL. 


PROLOGUE. 

The wind swept howling along the desolate 
coast, hurling the raging water in white-crested 
masses on the long stretch of sandy beach and 
driving the hissing spume up to the very feet of 
the noble army of pines — sturdy giants, centuries 
old — that stood in close array on a gentle slope 
skirting the margin of the sound. They who 
had stood their ground in many a former fray 
shook their plumed heads and swung their great 
arms defiantly, seeming to rejoice in the fury of 
the conflict. A few dead and half-dead trees in 
the main body went down, and here and there 
some grand monarch of the woods, occupying 
an advanced post nearer the water’s edge, 
swayed to and fro like a drunkard and fell, to 
be seized by the tumultuous billows, tossed ex- 
ultantly amid the shouting, clamorous voices of 
the tempest and borne away, mutilated and 
shorn of the glory of its majesty. 

Soaring aloft, these huge coniferae spread their 
wire-like plumes to .^olus, who played upon 
them as upon a great harp, adding a sad, dirge- 
like monody to the raving and roaring of the 
elements. 


2 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


A mile inland, the furious swoop of the wind, 
the rush and lash of the waves, the never-ceas- 
ing, monotonous sighing and sobbing of the 
pines came as a murmur from afar. There in the 
depths of the forest, where the sombre shadows 
lay, all was still and peaceful, and a soft soughing 
among the close-locked limbs overhead was all 
that told of any unusual disturbance among the 
powers of earth and air. The denizens of the 
forest had fled to these inner solitudes — the birds 
of the air, the beasts of the field, and man — man 
in his savage state, a little higher than the beast, 
his cohabitant of the wilderness. 

* * >l« sK sic 

The storm had subsided. The wind had spent 
its strength, and now sighed and panted like a 
weary giant. The waters were almost still, with 
a lazy, upheaving movement lapping the beach 
and making a soft, complaining murmur, as 
though craving forgiveness of the beautiful 
earth for the riotous excesses into which they 
had been led by their turbulent comrade. 

The moon in her last quarter — a golden bow 
that sent a long shaft of light like a shining arrow 
across the sound — ^had not long risen. It was 
close upon the dawning of day. On a sandy spit 
which stretched far out into the water appeared 
a dark moving mass, from which arose a wild, 
wailing sound — an Ossian-like chant, such as 
men unacquainted with the art of harmony but 
with a knowledge of numbers might sing. 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


3 


Like the shadow of a cloud the dark mass 
moved on, the wild dirge rising with increasing 
volume as it advanced to the extreme point of 
the spit. It stayed not at the water’s edge, but 
floated on until gradually it disappeared, melting 
away, as the cloud-shadow would melt, the sad 
song dying on the cool night air in a feeble, 
faltering strain, 

* ij« sj« 5|c * 

As the sun arose and stretched his warm arms 
out to embrace the blushing earth, a solitary In- 
dian approached the seashore. Gliding stealthily 
from tree to tree, crawling on his belly like a 
serpent under the thick growth of palmettos, 
now and then pausing to peer cautiously about 
and listen, he advanced until he could see the 
gleam of water through the ribbon-like fronds. 
Stopping here he listened intently. 

The shrieks of the sea-gulls, as they dipped 
in the waves and circled around each other, and 
the polyglot melody of a mocking bird, dancing 
airily on the leafless branch of a storm-racked 
oak, were the only sounds he heard, and push- 
ing on to the very verge of the bank he parted 
the fronds with his hands and looked along the 
shore. Not a human being was to be seen. Then 
he stood boldly upon his feet. A stately deer 
walked with slow, majestic tread to the water’s 
edge and sniffed the salty breeze before wetting 
his lips, but the Indian heeded it not. He was 
in search of other quarry, and his fierce glance 


4 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

changed to one of surprise as he scanned the 
surrounding scene in every direction. Had he 
been less intent on distant objects he would have 
seen, in the shadow of a clump of palmettos 
close at hand, two bright, black eyes watching 
him with the timorous look of a hunted wild 
beast. 

The Indian now ventured down on the open, 
sandy beach and walked along it. Presently he 
came to a place where the smoothness of the 
sand was disturbed by innumerable tracks — the 
footprints of men, women and children. The 
footprints came down from the woods above» 
He turned and followed them back to their start- 
ing point — cautiously, suspiciously, for the 
North American Indian is ever watchful, giving 
his enemy credit for possessing equal cunning 
with himself. 

In a little while he came to a deserted camp, 
and looked at it with all the astonishment one 
of his race ever allows himself to show. Every- 
thing was intact, those who had left it not having 
thought it worth while to destroy their worldly 
goods. Then he turned and retraced his steps 
to the beach, following the tracks in the other 
direction until he came to the point of the low, 
sandy spit. There he saw that the tracks led out 
into the water, and waded out a little way him- 
self. He could see the footprints still, through 
the clear shallow water, and, having satisfied 
himself that they continued outward, returned 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 5 

to the shore and ran to the woods, into which 
he disappeared. 

An hour later the warrior reappeared, accom- 
panied by other warriors and some squaws. The 
latter scattered about the deserted camp while 
the former followed the footprints as the first man 
had done, standing a long time on the point of 
the spit, looking seaward and talking to each 
other, then pursuing the trend of the beach 
further on, examining the ground as they went. 

The women were busily engaged looking over 
the plunder that had thus unexpectedly fallen to 
them when they were startled by a sharp cry 
coming from the borders of the forest, some little 
distance away. Immediately some of them hast- 
ened in that direction and presently came upon 
a young girl ensconced among the gnarled limbs 
of a low-growing live-oak. She soon explained 
that in searching about among the palmettos — 
for what she did not say — she had suddenly 
come face to face with some kind of fierce beast. 

'Tt is there r she said; ‘"there!’" pointing to 
a thick clump of the little dwarf palms. 

One of the older women, knowing that no 
very dangerous creature could be hidden in such 
a place, ventured to go in and see what kind of 
beast it was. Firsts peeping through the inter- 
stices of the fronds, she saw a pair of bright eyes; 
then, clearing away the space in front of her, she 
looked closer, and, turning to her companions, 


6 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

pointed with a gesture of scorn to the maiden in 
the tree. 

“What is it? What is it?'’ was the general cry, 
and, thrusting her hand into the hiding place,, 
she drew forth a reluctant and frightened little 
savage maid of four or five summers. 

This is the tale that is told, even to this day„ 
of a tribe of savages who, hard-pressed and 
driven to desperation by their enemies, sought 
death in the deep sea. 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


7 


CHAPTER I. 

THE OLD WORLD. 

Seville, the beautiful, half-Moorish, half- 
Gothic city, was decked in gala array. 

The king, Philip the Second of Castile and 
Aragon, had at last decided to visit this, the 
sunny capital of the south, and her citizens, mer- 
chants who had grown rich on the trade of the 
Orient and the Occident, expended of their great 
wealth without stint to give him a reception 
worthy the great nation that he ruled. Since the 
discovery of America, more than half a century 
before, wealth had flowed into Spain in an un- 
interrupted stream, and Seville had got her full 
share of it; her merchants’ houses were palaces, 
her public squares gardens, and her name was 
the synonym of beauty throughout the length 
and breadth of Europe; yet Philip, who had been 
seated on the throne some years, had never vis- 
ited her. Perhaps it was that very sunny love- 
liness for which she was celebrated that repulsed 
this gloomy ascetic; the dismal grandeur of the 
Alcazar, overlooking the barren wastes around 
Madrid, suited him better, and there he stayed 
when he was not in the Netherlands superin- 


8 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


tending — from a safe distance — the slaughter of 
rebellious Dutchmen. 

But now he was coming, and all the streets 
through which he and his cortege of gallant 
knights and grandees of Spain would pass were 
decorated with banners, bannerets and gonfa- 
lons, and rich tapestries hung from windows 
and balconies, where all the beauty of the city 
was assembled, amid a profusion of flowers, 
anxiously awaiting his arrival. 

At last he came, welcomed by the huzzas of 
the people, whom he despised, and the booming 
of cannon, of which he was afraid. Preceded by 
a pursuivant in the royal livery — who was fol- 
lowed at a little distance by a gallant troop of 
knights — he came, mounted on an ambling 
jennet — the war horse was not to his liking — 
caparisoned in a housing of cloth of gold, with 
bridle of velvet, bit of silver and saddle inlaid 
with precious stones. 

Surrounded by the mighty men of his realm, 
all viewing with him in the splendor of their 
adorning and the adornings of their stately 
steeds, he came, and, heedless of the smiles of 
beauty or the plaudits of chivalry, passed on to 
the church to pray, thence to the bull-fight and 
the mto do fe. 

With so many people collected along the royal 
route, the balance of the city appeared to be left 
to take care of itself. Scarce a human being was 
to be seen in the streets, while the caravels, 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 9 

xebecs and feluccas lying at the quays, although 
decked with flags and pennants, were deserted 
by their crews. 

Out of one of the narrower streets debouch- 
ing on the quay, when the excitement and en- 
thusiasm in the city were at their height, came a 
girl, perhaps fifteen years of age. She was 
dressed in a black velvet bodice and short crim- 
son silk skirt, with a sort of snood of the same 
color and material on her head — not having yet 
reached the age when it was deemed decorous 
for her to wear the lace mantilla with which it 
was customary for Spanish ladies to half hide 
their beauties. She was accompanied by a dog 
— a spaniel — which she held in check with a 
silken cord. It was a pretty creature, as was its 
mistress whose girlish loveliness promised to 
develop into a higher order of beauty in the 
future. 

''Come, Carlos,'^ she said, "since we may not 
go to see the king because of the great throng 
that surrounds His Majesty, we must e’en con- 
tent us with a look at the ships decked in all their 
bright flags — and a gallant show they make, too, 
senor.*' 

While thus talking to the dog she stooped and 
loosed the cord from its collar. 

Finding itself at liberty, the little animal im- 
mediately began to gambol about its mistress, 
yelping and barking for joy, she encouraging it 
by holding out her hand, to make it leap high in 


lO A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

its efforts to lick it — the dog’s way of kissing: 
those it loves. 

Laughing and enjoying the sport, the girl did 
not heed that she was approaching the edge of 
the quay on which they were, and she might 
have fallen into the water had not the dog, as 
heedless as herself, itself fallen in with a great 
splash. 

''O, Carlos!” cried she, looking down at him,. 
^Vhat hast thou done, foolish dog?” 

He had fallen in a sort of dock that opened 
into the river — there was no vessel of any kind 
in it at the time — and had he swam out into the 
stream, would soon have found some place 
where he could have made a landing, but he did 
not do this; he essayed rather to get a foothold 
on the wall of the dock and climb out, and the 
maiden, kneeling down, tried to assist him. But 
the wall of the quay was too high and, in his 
frantic efforts to get at the loving hand extended 
to him, he soon began to show signs of exhaus- 
tion. Seeing this, the girl became frightened. 

“O, my dog! my dog!” she cried, the tears, 
welling into her eyes, "'thou wilt drown. Holy 
Mother, what shall I do?” looking around in 
hopes of seeing some one whom she could call 
to her assistance. 

But there was nobody near and, tearing the 
silken snood from her head, she held that down 
to the dog, who, with the instinct of self-preserva^ 
tion, seized it with his teeth. She did not en- 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. I I 

deavor to lift him out of the water, feeling herself 
unequal to the task and fearing to lose this frail 
hold on his life, but keeping a firm grasp on her 
end of the bit of cloth, encouraged him to do 
■likewise, looking round every now and then 
with a feeble cry for help. 

The two had not been in this trying position 
long when a little boat shot into the dock from 
the river, and the next instant her dear friend 
and loving companion whom she had so nearly 
lost was lifted out of the water and laid at her 
feet. 

So great was her astonishment and joy at first 
that she did not notice how this had happened,, 
but, taking the wet dog in her arms, covered it 
with caresses and kisses, while lavishing on it 
the most endearing terms; but then, the creature 
struggling to get away, so that it might shake 
.itself — for a dog that has been in the water is 
never content until it has done that — she recol- 
lected herself and, looking up, beheld standing 
beside her a handsome young cavalier. 

This cavalier was altogether unlike the typical 
Spaniard. He was a tall, well-formed, broad- 
shouldered young fellow, evidently strong and 
active, like most of the youths of the better class 
of that day — the warlike exercises then deemed 
necessary to the molding of a gentleman de- 
veloping very stalwart men — but his complexion 
was fair, his eyes, though dark, not that intense 
black peculiar to the eyes of the Spanish race; 


12 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


and the girl saw, when he lifted his broad- 
brimmed, plumed hat for an instant, that his hair, 
which lay in soft, short curls on his head, was 
red, looking like rings of gold when the sun 
touched it. 

‘‘Ah, your sehoria,” she said, the warm blood 
flushing through the soft, creamy skin of her 
cheeks as she rose to her feet, “I owe you thanks 
for saving my poor dog, and I was so foolishly 
glad to have him once more in my arms that I 
didn't even look to see to whom I was debtor. I 
crave your pardon, senor." 

“I am glad to have been of service to you, 
senorita, to you and your little dog," said the 
cavalier, “and there is no great debt to be con- 
sidered." 

“What your senoria is pleased to say only 
proves that you understand not the value of the 
service you have done me," replied the girl. 
“Carlos is my only friend, and had I lost him I 
know not what I should have done. Truly, me- 
thinks, I should have leaped into the water with 
him had you not come when you did." 

The young man looked at her seriously a 
moment; then he said, “Surely, life cannot be so 
barren to you already that you would sacrifice it 
for the sake of a dog!" 

“Nay, senor," was the reply, “life is not bar- 
ren ; it hath its pleasures, even for me, but I love 
my dog." 

“Even for you?" he repeated, with an amused 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 1 3 , 

smile. ''Hath not life the same pleasures for you 
that it hath for other maidens of your degree?’' 

She did not reply, but stood looking on the 
ground, and he continued, "Now, I pray you^ 
tell me, maiden, why you are here alone to-day,, 
when all Seville hath gone to welcome the King?" 

"But nay, sehor, I am not alone, as your own 
eyes may see. There is Carlos — dear Carlos. 
But where is he?" looking about anxiously "Ah! 
there he is," as the dog came galloping to her,, 
barking and showing other signs of impatience; 
"he is tired of waiting for me. Be quiet, Carlos! 
Lie down, sirrah!" 

The animal obediently crouched at her feet, 
whining, and evidently anxious to be gone. 

"A dog is but a poor companion at the best," 
said the cavalier. 

"Ah, think you so, sehor? But you scarcely 
know Carlos, and so I must e'en excuse your 
poor opinion of him. Indeed, your sehoria, he 
is my only friend, as I have already told you." 

"Then must I crave his pardon, and yours, 
likewise, sehorita," was the response. "An’ that 
be so, which I doubt not, having the assurance 
from yourself, you do well to hold him dear, for 
truly friends be hard to find." 

"Hath your sehoria found that out, too?" 
asked the girl, who, now observing his apparel 
more particularly, perceived that it was made of 
the plainest and cheapest materials then in use, 
judged that he was by no means rich. 


14 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


‘‘I am but a soldier of fortune/’ he said, 
‘‘though of right good Castilian blood, and such 
are not blessed with many friends.” 

“A soldier!” cried the girl, her beautiful eyes 
brightening, “but I might have known that: all 
brave cavaliers are soldiers now. But why 
should not a soldier of fortune have friends, 
sefior?” 

“Truly, I know not, unless it be that we are 
for the most part poor, and each bent on win- 
ning his own way to fame and fortune. 

“We have buenas camaradas, yet that signifieth 
not always true friends. But I know not why I 
have kept you standing here, sehorita, so I will 
bid you adios; the little dog, I am sure, will be 
glad when he sees the last of me.” 

“Then will he be ungrateful,” said the dog’s 
mistress, “and thou art not ungrateful, art thou, 
Carlos?” 

The dog acknowledged the notice bestowed 
upon him with a wag of his tail. 

The cavalier had drawn his boat up by the 
rope which he held in his hand, and the girl, with 
a soft “Adios, sefior,” turned to go away. She 
had gone but a little way when she came run- 
ning back. 

“O, sehor,” she said, in a breathless, hesitating 
way, “should — a — should you need money— my 
grandfather, I doubt not, will gladly lend you 
some. He hath dealings with many cavaliers.” 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. IS 

"'But he scarcely hath dealings with them who 
can give him no pledge for that which they 
borrow of him/’ replied the cavalier, laughing. 
"Thanks, sehorita, for your kind intent, but no 
man, I warrant, would willingly cast his money 
into the sea, unless he be mad, and, of a surety. 
I’ll not be the one to ask your good grandfather 
to do it.” 

"But he’ll require no pledge of you, senor, 
when he knoweth how I am indebted to you.” 

"You are indebted to me naught, sehorita, 
and, even were it so, the more reason that I 
should ask naught of him. But you can scarce 
understand the drift of my thoughts.” 

"Ah, but I do,” said the girl. "Your sehoria 
is too proud to take by way of a loan that which 
you fear you may not be able to repay.” 

"Perchance that is it,” said the young man. 
^"But still I thank you, sehorita, for the kindness 
you intend,” and, taking the girl’s soft, white 
hand in his, he raised it to his lips; then, bidding 
her adois, leapt into his boat. 

This act of simple courtesy, so common in 
those days, seemed to have a strange ef¥ect in this 
case. The girl, with heightened color, stood a 
few moments where the cavalier left her, as im- 
mobile as a statue, her eyes downcast, and the 
hand his lips had touched folded closely in the 
other. When she looked up he was far out in 


1 6 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

the stream, making his little boat spin under the 
quick, strong strokes of his oars, and, with a 
scarcely audible sigh, she turned away, softly 
kissing the hand he had kissed as she walked 
homeward, followed, unwillingly, by her dog. 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


17 


CHAPTER II. 

THE NEW WORLD. 

We of the present nineteenth century, who 
have become accustomed to things marvelous, 
almost miraculous, can hardly form a just idea 
of the effect produced throughout the length 
and breadth of Europe when the news was slowly 
filtered through its commercial arteries, that a 
new world, inhabited by people of a race hitherto 
unknown, had been discovered by a Genoese 
sailor. That this man — ^this crank, as he was 
considered — though then they had not the word 
— by all save a few, like Perez and Quinta- 
nilla, had exploded the time-honored notion that 
the earth was flat like a great pancake, and had 
set at rest forever the much-argued question 
whether or no a ship could sail very far in a 
westerly direction on the bosom of the Atlantic 
without coming to grief. 

Soon, other adventurers following the path 
marked out on a pathless ocean by Colombo, 
the dove that went forth from the ark of the 
old world and returned with evidences of the 
existence of dry land beyond the watery waste, 
found their way to the new countries in search 
of El Dorados and fountains of perpetual youth. 


1 8 A STEP-DAUGPITEP. OF ISRAEL. 

returning, some with fabulous wealth, others 
with fabulous tales, which latter, being judi- 
ciously handled, proved of quite as much value 
as the cargoes of gold and silver. 

About three years after the visit of Philip II. 
to Seville, a galleon of the first class sailed from 
Cadiz and set her course for the Western World. 
She had about one hundred and fifty men on 
board, chiefly soldiers, and was commanded by 
Don Rudolfo de la Borla. 

During the voyage to Hispaniola nothing 
unusual happened, but shortly after the gal- 
leon left that island, Don Rudolfo died, and the 
command devolved upon one Carlo Rossi, an 
Italian, who had the reputation of being a good 
soldier, and a soldier was generally chosen as 
chief of such expeditions, the navigation of the 
vessel being entrusted to an experienced mariner. 

They were in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico 
when this sad event occurred, and shortly after 
the body of the commander was consigned to 
the restless waves, a storm arose that drove them 
to the northward. Three days they were buffeted 
about, and, at the end of that time, the wind 
still blowing a pretty stiff gale, found themselves 
in close proximity to some low-lying islands. 
The sea was running high, the galleon leaking 
badly, and their only chance of escape from 
death lay in driving her through the pass be- 
tween two of these islands, and finding shelter 
under their lee. This the pilot with considerable 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 1 9 

difficulty succeeded in doing, when they found 
themselves in comparatively smooth water, 
where they lay to and looked into the condition 
of their craft. It was very evident that she 
could not be kept afloat much longer, and, the 
pilot advising it, she was run across the narrow 
strip of water in which they then were, to the 
mainland, two or three leagues away. 

Here she was beached, and with the only boat 
left — the others had been lost during the storm 
— the soldiers and sailors were transported to 
the shore, where they made an easy landing, the 
beach being smooth and free from rocks or any- 
thing else to give them trouble. Of the one hun- 
dred and fifty men who had sailed from Cadiz 
twenty-six had perished, including two subor- 
dinate officers, and Carlo Rossi found himself 
the sole one in authority over a band of rough, 
hardened adventurers, already disposed to be 
jealous because of his Italian nationality, for- 
getting that the man who had opened this new 
field of enterprise to them and their like was 
himself an Italian. 

The shore of the lake or sound into which they 
had brought their vessel was bordered by a 
thick growth of trees — chiefly pines — among 
which they caught an occasional glimpse of the 
wild-eyed natives peering at them curiously 
while the royal standard of Castile and Aragon 
was being unfurled to the breeze of a new world, 
the soldiers grouped around it lifting their 


20 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


gleaming swords and taking possession in the 
name of his catholic Majesty. 

The natives were doubtless greatly impressed 
by the ceremony, which to them probably had 
some mystic significance, but had they under- 
stood the real meaning of it, and all of which it 
was the forerunner, they would have fallen upon 
these strangers then, while they were, in a meas- 
ure, defenceless, and exterminated them. 

As it was, they were shy, though not afraid, 
and it was some time before they could be in- 
duced to come near enough to hold any inter- 
course with them. 

The first thing the white men did was to estab- 
lish a temporary camp in the forest near where 
they had landed, and get ashore what they could 
from the galleon. The wind had laid and the 
tide had ebbed, leaving the vessel in water not 
more than three feet deep, so that it would have 
been an easy matter to have transported the 
entire cargo to the land had it been desired; but 
provisions and ammunition for their arquebuses 
was what they chiefly needed, and these were at 
once secured. This done, they began to look 
about them. 

At first they had thought of repairing their 
vessel and getting her afloat again, but the im- 
possibility of doing this soon became apparent. 
When they had brought her into the position in 
which she now was, the water, driven in by the 
wind, had been unusually high, and now it was 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


21 


found that she was stuck fast in the sand, and it 
would be impossible to move her; so, necessity 
compelling, they e'en made the best they could 
of the matter, and, having selected a place suit- 
able for a permanent camp, proceeded to strip 
‘her of sails, rigging and such provisions as were 
not spoiled, besides bringing away two small 
cannon, called falconets, with a sufficient supply 
of powder and ball, and abandoned her to her 
fate, which was settled by the next storm break- 
ing her up and scattering her timbers for miles 
along the shore. 

With regard to the future and what it might 
have in store for them, they never once gave it a 
•thought, not doubting that in time some ship 
bent on a voyage of discovery would come that 
way, or that whenever they felt so inclined they 
could march around by the coast line in an 
easterly direction until they came to a Spanish 
settlement. For the present they were only 
intent on enjoying the freedom of life ashore 
after their long confinement in the galleon and 
the rough treatment they had received from 
Boreas and Oceanus. 

After a little while the natives became more 
told, and a few of the women ventured into the 
camp, when, being well received and presented 
with some trifling trinkets, they returned to their 
people with marvelous accounts of the goodness 
of the strangers, which induced others to come, 
and soon the intercourse between the white men 


22 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


and the savages was unreserved and free from 
fear or suspicion — at least on the part of the 
latter, who brought offerings of maize and game 
to the guests, whom they seemed delighted to 
honor. 

The place the Spaniards had selected for their 
encampment was a point of land or cape that at 
its base was not more than three hundred yards 
across, which, in case of any interruption to their 
friendly relations with the Indians, would be 
easily defended. 

The eastern side of the cape was washed by 
what they at first supposed to be the waters of 
an estuary of the sound, but which they after- 
ward discovered to be one of the mouths of a 
river, the bank of which a little higher up was 
covered with a dense growth of trees — live-oaks,, 
gums, magnolias, bays and many other varieties, 
the drooping branches of the live-oaks almost 
touching the stream, the grey moss which hung 
pendent from them, like the beards of river 
gods, being constantly swept one way or the 
other by the tides as they ebbed or flowed. 

Over these trees clambered vines, which, it 
being the season of spring, were gorgeous with 
blossoms ; the wistaria, hanging heavily with 
purple clusters, like a grape vine overladen with 
fruit; the yellow jasmine, loading low trees and 
shrubs with heaps of gold, and the trampet-vine, 
climbing high to flash its flaming banners in the 
sunshine. 


A STEP-DAUGHTER DF ISRAEL. 23 

On the cape itself there was very little growth 
of any kind — a cluster of stunted, storm-torn 
live-oaks, one giant pine and a few clumps of 
palmettoes — that was all. 

Two or three parties, under the guidance of 
natives, started out to explore the country and 
find out its resources, and while they were gone 
those who remained behind employed them- 
selves building huts to shelter them from the 
weather, a dozen or more men under the direc- 
tion of Rossi erecting a log house of two rooms, 
one of which was to be the commander's sleep- 
ing apartment, and the other a store room in 
which their provisions and ammunition were to 
be kept. 

The exploring parties returned, bringing no 
very encouraging reports. One party that had 
gone up the river in the boat told a tale of dismal 
swamps where ferocious beasts prowled at 
night, their frightful cries mingling with the 
bellowings of crocodiles of enormous size that 
swarmed in the river. The others had traversed 
miles and miles of pine lands, abounding in 
game and watered by clear, running streams, 
alive with fish, but possessing no attractions for 
civilized men. 

However, for the present they were well satis- 
fied, and set themselves to enjoy to the full those 
hours of idleness so dear to the soldier of that 
day, who, accustomed to rough campaigning 
and hard knocks when in active service, gave 


24 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL, 


himself up to riotous living or worse in times 
of peace. But there was no opportunity for riot 
or license here in the wilderness, and these men 
amused themselves with the innocent pastimes 
of hunting and fishing, the worst they were guilty 
of being gambling and making rude love to the 
women. 

All discipline had disappeared since the wreck 
of the galleon, and Rossi began to seriously con- 
sider how he could re-establish his authority, 
which seemed to be set at naught by these tur- 
bulent spirits. He was too good a soldier not to 
know that such a state of affairs as then existed 
could not continue without danger. Something 
might occur to excite the hostility of the natives, 
but it appeared much more probable that dis- 
sension would arise among the men themselves, 
which would be far worse. 

He tried by mild remonstrance and good 
advice to bring them to a sense of their duty, but 
they only laughed and treated him with con- 
tempt, which he dared not, standing alone as he 
did, resent. 

There was one among them — Pablo Gonzales 
by name — an old campaigner, gigantic of stature 
and grim of aspect — who was treated by his 
comrades with that respect which is born of fear. 
This man had been a free companion from his 
youth, and had served under the most noted 
leaders of his day. He was one of the most 
brutal of a brutal trade, boasting of the bloody 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


25 


deeds that had stained every step of a long career 
with truculent pride. He had lost all taste for 
everything save rapine and slaughter, and stood 
aloof, regarding the others as a giant might a 
company of pigmies. 

Rossi invited Gonzales to his quarters and, 
taking him into his confidence, asked his advice. 

The man had been accustomed to subordina- 
tion all his life, and cared not whether his cap- 
tain was Spanish, Italian, Frenchman or Moor, 
so long as he was a good soldier, and a good 
soldier he knew Carlo Rossi to be. 

‘‘Had I your authority, senor,’^ he said, “Fd 
soon bring these fellows to their senses, e’en 
wer’t needful to hang a score of them.” 

“It hath occurred to me,” replied the Italian, 
after a few minutes’ consideration, “that there 
should be some officer subordinate to me — one 
with whom I could hold counsel, and on whom I 
could depend in an emergency, and if thou, 
Pablo, art content to serve as my lieutenant — I 
have authority to appoint thee to the office — so 
might we, acting in concert, bring about the 
needful reforms. What say’st thou?” 

“As you will, senor,” replied the soldier. “It 
were hard to say you nay, perceiving, as I do, 
that you stand in need of a strong hand to aid 
you, but were we otherwise circumstanced, I 
would scarce accept the responsibility.” 

Accordingly, the newly-appointed lieutenant, 
secretly exultant at his first promotion, went 


26 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


among the men as one in authority, and soon 
brought some sort of order out of the chaos that 
prevailed. Strict military discipline was not at 
once established, it is true, but the disorder that 
had reigned disappeared, and the regular routine 
of camp life was gradually resumed. 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


27 


CHAPTER III. 

THE OLD WORLD. 

When the Jews, during the reign of Ferdinand 
and Isabella, were given the option of embracing 
Christianity or quitting Spain, many of them, 
preferring poverty to apostasy, went forth to 
seek homes in other lands. Among them was 
one Beneberak, who carried with him his son, a 
mere babe — the child being all that was left to 
him of kindred. He went to the African coast 
with many others of his race, like them fell 
among thieves there, and, after enduring many 
hardships, was glad to return to Seville, where he 
had formerly lived, and submit himself to be 
baptized at the hands of the zealous ministers 
of Holy Church, who, honestly rejoicing in the 
salvation of two more souls — for the child was 
baptized at the same time with the father — 
knew not that the Jew, still obstinately clinging 
to the faith of his fathers, secretly cursed them 
and their Christ. But so it was, and he brought 
up his son to love the ancient religion of the 
Hebrews and hate that of the people among 
whom he lived, while at the same time caution- 
ing him to be wary, and not allow the priests,. 


.28 


A STEP-DAUGIiTER OF ISRAEL. 


ever on the watch for recusants, to find aught on 
which to base an accusation against him. In the 
course of time old Beneberak died, ministered to 
by those very priests whom he consigned to the 
bottomless pit with his last breath, though keep- 
ing up an appearance of Christian resignation for 
the sake of Beneberak the younger, who, having 
sufficiently established his house, took unto him- 
self a wife, who bore unto him also a son — one, 
and no more. 

This Beneberak — he was known as Bene- 
berak among his own people, though he had 
been christened Basilio Murillo — tried to instil 
into his boy the hatred of Christianity that he 
had inherited from his own father. The mother, 
however, was not only a Christian in form but in 
fact, and her child grew to love her religion, 
which he saw was, in its essence, a religion of 
love, and not of hate, and ere she died, which she 
did when he was a youth of sixteen, promised 
her to live and die a faithful follower of Christ. 

When the first Beneberak returned to Spain 
after his rough experience in Africa, he was 
almost penniless; but Seville was at that time 
one of the most important commercial cities in 
the south of Europe, and where trade flourishes 
the descendents of the astute Jacob generally 
manage to secure to themselves a fair share of 
the profits arising therefrom; so it was not very 
long ere he was again in comfortable circum- 
stances, and before he died had accumulated 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 29 

quite a respectable fortune, which his heir, by 
judicious management, doubled and trebled. 

No one knew positively the amount of Basilio 
Murillo’s wealth — he kept his own counsel, and 
lived modestly, fearing the envy and covetous- 
ness of his Christian neighbors, which he had al- 
ways believed had had more to do with the perse^ 
cution and spoliation of his race in the preceding 
generation than any mere question of religious, 
belief. Yet enough was known of his success- 
ful business transactions to satisfy those who in- 
terested themselves in the matter that he was- 
far from being a poor man, and when his son 
Alfonso offered his hand in marriage to a daugh- 
ter of a Castilian family, poor but proud, that had 
moved to Seville in hopes of bettering its for- 
tunes, her kindred made no objections to the 
alliance. 

The only one who did object was the father 
of the young man. He had other views for his 
son; but, finding him possessed of a share of that 
Hebrew obstinacy which he, the old man, was 
wont to consider a virtue to be proud of, he let 
him have his own way. So Alfonso wedded the 
woman he loved, and carried her home to hi& 
father’s house. But the days of his happiness 
were of short duration, the young wife only liv- 
ing long enough to give birth to one child, a girl,, 
who was soon left both fatherless and mother- 
less, the husband dying in less than a year after 
his bereavement. 


30 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


The child, left to the care of servants, was 
but little noticed by its grandfather at first, but 
when one of those Castilian relations, whom he 
despised for their pride and poverty, which he 
considered an incongruous association, came 
and offered to take it and bring it up in his own 
family, he seemed to manifest a sudden interest, 
rejecting the proffer of the Spaniard with a 
greater show of contempt than was necessary, 
and in a little while after he once began to make 
much of it, the little one wound itself so closely 
about his heart that he would rather have parted 
with all his wealth than with it. 

Beneberak, as we will call him, in preference to 
the name that had been forced upon him by his 
sponsors, inhabited a modest but commodious 
dwelling in a part of Seville where many of his 
brethren — ''the reconciled'^ they were called — 
lived. 

Those who had business with the old Jew, be- 
lieving him to be rich, gave him credit for great 
parsimony, because of the extreme plainness of 
the furniture in that part of the house occupied 
by himself and his clerk; but had they penetrated 
further they would have found themselves sur- 
rounded by a sort of oriental luxury, for on those 
inner chambers inhabited by his granddaughter 
— now a maiden of about eighteen years — no ex- 
pense was spared to render them attractive and 
comfortable — or what was so understood in 
those days. 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 3 I 

In one of those inner chambers now sat Bene- 
berak and Antonia, the maiden in question; The 
old man was reading. Sitting in a straight- 
backed chair, whose cunningly carved top tow- 
ered above his partially bald head, he leaned for- 
ward on his cane for support, his chin, covered 
with a stiff, grizzly beard, resting on his chest, 
while he held his book — a curiously bound vol- 
ume that a bibliomaniac of the present day 
would pay a small fortune for — at arms’ length. 
No one could have mistaken the race from which 
he had sprung. The sharp black eyes, large 
hooked nose, and heavy, but obstinate mouth 
proclaimed him a son of Israel. 

The girl sat at the low window idling. She 
was the same who between three and four years 
before had stood on the quay gazing after the 
cavalier who had saved her dog’s life, as he 
floated away on the bosom of the river — out of 
her sight — out of her life, She had grown into 
a tall, well-developed maiden, and as she sat 
there with her elbow resting on the window-sill, 
the back of her beautiful hand just touching her 
soft cheek, dreamily looking out into the patio 
or courtyard belonging to the house, she was 
the picture of feminine loveliness in repose. Ris- 
ing to her feet, to watch the light play of a but- 
terfly fluttering among the flowers with which 
she had adorned the place, she stood with the 
stately grace of the Venus of Milo, her round, 
full neck supporting a magnificent head crowned 


3 2 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


with a mass of black hair, which she usually 
wore combed high, so that it added to the natural 
grandeur of her appearance, for she was a grand- 
looking woman. The smooth forehead looked 
like cream-tinted marble in contrast with the 
black hair and brows, beneath which appeared 
a pair of marvelous eyes — large and dark — from 
which the soul of the woman seemed to look 
with earnest, tender watchfulness. The face was 
a fine oval with the delicate crimson tint of 
health in the cheeks and the round, dimpled chin, 
the nose slightly aquiline — neither so small as 
to be weak, nor so large as to be masculine or 
coarse — and the full lips were curling and sensi- 
tive, prone to tremble a little when the sym- 
pathies were touched, or any unusual emotion 
was stirred. Those features of Antonia which I 
have thus lightly touched upon were nearly per- 
fect, in form as well as in their power of expres- 
sion, but none was so perfect as her ear. An- 
tonia’s ear was not particularly small, but, like 
her elegantly formed hands and feet, was well 
proportioned in size to the rest of her superb 
person. The lines were exceedingly fine. There 
were no sharp angles where curves should be, no 
curiously shaped holes full of black shadows 
where there ought to be only indentations, with 
transparent half-shades and reflections; but all 
those delicate little parts which go to the mak- 
ing of an ear were symmetrically arranged, run- 
ning into and intersecting each other with sweep- 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 33 

ing lines, lights, half-shadows and reflections, 
full of grace, marvelous to behold, and subtile 
gradations of tint, from the warm, creamy white 
of the arch to the soft rose-pink of the lobe. 

‘^Grandfather,'' said the maiden, as she sat 
down again, “do you remember nigh four years 
agone I came home, wet and bedraggled, my 
silken kirtle spoiled, and told you how poor Car- 
los had been near drowning, and that he had 
surely done so had not a handsome young cava- 
lier come in a little boat, in the nick o' time, to 
same him?" 

The dog was lying at his mistress' feet, and at 
the sound of the beloved voice looked up in her 
face, beating the floor with his tail. 

“Ay," replied the old man, closing his book, 
“I am not so old that my memory doth fail me, 
but I had thought thou had'st forgot the cir- 
cumstance and that same cavalier, too, ere now, 
as was befitting thou should'st." 

“Forgotten him?" said Antonia, the crimson 
in her cheeks deepening. “Is't like that I should 
forget him, when 'tis to him I owe the life of my 
only friend? He was a well-favored young cav- 
alier of good degree, and there was e'en that 
about him one does not easily forget." 

“Thou wert but a child then, Antonia, and 'tis 
not well that cavaliers of high or low degree 
should stick i' thy silly pate, so I would advise 
thee to forget him now." 

“And wherefore should I forget him? Must 


34 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

I be ungrateful to one who did me a service be- 
cause he chanced to be a youth of goodly 
means?” 

‘'Nay, girl, his not of gratitude nor ingrati- 
tude, I speak,” said Beneberak. “The service 
for which thou claimht to be his debtor was of 
the slightest, and I doubt not he hath forgotten 
it and thee.” 

“That well may be,” replied the girl, quietly, 
turning her face toward the patio. 

“And besides,” continued the old man, “thou 
art now a woman grown, and thou should’st lay 
aside childish recollections. Aye, wench, thou 
hast sprouted up so quickly and so finely, with- 
al, that I scarce know when thou did'st pass the 
bounds of childhood.” 

“And when we pass those bounds do we leave 
all remembrance of the past behind us? Ah, no, 
dear grandfather, we cannot if we would. You, 
yourself, have not done it, for oft have you told 
me of days of tribulation, when you wandered in 
the African desert with your father; hungry and 
athirst, with naught but savage beasts and more 
savage men lying in wait for you.” 

“Aye, truly, wench, ’tis as thou say^st, but those 
were times to leave a mark upon the soul that 
a thousand years would ne’er wipe out — God's 
curse upon the uncircumsized dogs that drove 
His people forth to perish in the wilderness!” he 
muttered under his breath. 

After some moments’ silence Antonia returned 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 35 

to the subject that evidently engrossed her 
thoughts. 

“The cavalier/' she said, “is again in Seville/' 

“How know’st thou that he hath been away 
from Seville?'' asked Beneberak, suspiciously. 

“Of a verity, I cannot say I do know it," was 
the reply, “but 'twould seem reasonable had he 
been in the city that I should have encountered 
him before." 

“Thou would'st have encountered him be- 
fore?" repeated the old man. “Am I to under- 
stand then that thou hast encountered him re- 
cently?" 

“I saw him yester morn — Pm sure 'twas the 
same cavalier — and think not he is a whit the 
richer, if one may judge of the weight of the 
purse by the quality of the apparel." 

“And what importeth it to thee whether he 
be rich or poor?" 

“He was kind to me and my poor Carlos, who 
would have been drowned but for his timely 
aid, and I would gladly know that he hath fared 
well i' the world." 

“And did this sehor caballero accost thee?" 

“Nay. 'Tis like, as you say, he hath forgotten 
me. Had he seen Carlos perchance he had re- 
membered him." 

The last clause of the maiden's speech, though 
following the first naturally enough, betrayed 
the wish that was father to the thought, and 
Beneberak was too shrewd not to perceive it. 


36 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

‘Then His as well he saw him not/’ he said. 
“I tell thee, these cavaliers are all cut after the 
same pattern,” he added warmly, “they be hawks^ 
girl! hawks! whose talons rend the hearts of 
doves like thee.” 

“An’ this be not an honest cavalier, then will 
I ne’er trust mine eyes again,” said Antonia. 

“Tut, tut, what have thine eyes to do with the 
matter? Think’st thou, foolish wench, that they 
can spy out a rogue?” 

“Mine eyes tell me when I look into other 
eyes if they be those of a true man.” 

“Vaya! what call hath a maid like thee to be 
looking into men’s eyes? I fear me thou hast 
been over bold. Be more circumspect with thine 
own eyes, or chance they will lead thee into mis- 
chief.” 

“You do me wrong, grandfather,” said the 
girl reproachfully. “There be none who can 
justly say that I e’er did aught unmaidenly; but 
when we hold discourse with others ’tis but nat- 
ural to look into their eyes, and I trust not them 
who do otherwise.” 

“Trust none,” said the old man; “for, I tell 
thee, the veriest gallows-rogue that lives can as- 
sume the look of honesty — aye! and be to the 
seeming more frank and true than the honest 
man himself. Heed thou the counsel of an old 
man who hath read the book of life in many lan- 
guages, who knoweth the world as he knoweth 
Seville — Its broadest streets and its narrowest 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


37 


alleys, its bright plazas and its dark corners. 
Guard well thy heart; for, let a man be ne'er so 
honest in the ordinary affairs of life, he's not to 
be trusted where thy sex is concerned; no — 
never!" 


33 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE NEW WORLD. 

From among the savage women who con- 
stantly hung about the Spanish camp many of 
the soldiers chose wives whom they wedded in 
the manner prescribed by savage usage, and lived 
within separate huts, enjoying a primitive kind 
of domestic felicity. There was one whom Ros- 
si himself had solicited to enter into the con- 
nubial state, but who had refused to do so and,, 
when the Italian had become pressing in his 
suit, she had fled to the forest, returning to the 
camp no more. 

Nawatonah was the adopted daughter of an 
old chief, and had been promised by him to a 
young warrior of merit. She was not of the 
same tribe as her companions, but the sole sur- 
vivor of a race that had perished — a savage waif 
that had escaped the doom of her people. Be- 
ing quick of apprehension, she had picked up 
enough of the stranger’s language to act as in- 
terpreter between them and the duller aborigines 
and, possessing a wild beauty and grace pecu- 
liarly attractive, had won the regard of the com-. 
mander of the post. 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL.* ' 39 

Now Nawatonah was not in love with the 
young barbarian who had been selected for her 
future lord, but she had been assigned to him, 
by a power whose authority she never dreamed 
of disputing, as a piece of property which he 
would be entitled to claim as soon as he had 
performed certain stipulated things — conditions 
of the marriage contract. Indeed, it is to be 
doubted that the savage — pure and simple — ever 
experiences the high order of chaste sentiment 
we call love. The male savage is always re- 
garded by the female as a being infinitely supe- 
rior to herself, inspiring admiration, reverence or 
fear, and, vice versa, the male looks upon the 
female as a creature created to be his slave, his 
drudge — nothing more. 

Civilized men and women love each other, 
and that sentiment places them on a level — it up- 
lifts the weaker and lowers the stronger until 
they stand on a plane of equality. They become 
one. The relative positions of the savage man 
and woman are those of master and slave, and 
they remain unchanged through all conditions of 
life. There is no spiritual affinity to make them 
one, as in the other case. Yet, curious it is to 
drew a parallel between civilization and sava- 
gery until the extremes of both conditions of life 
meet on a common ground — the ground matri- 
monial. We find among people who have 
reached a certain degree of refinement in civili- 
zation that exactly the same ideas with regard 


40 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

to matrimonial alliances prevail as among sav- 
ages. The feelings of those most interested are 
not taken into account at all; the contract is 
made by higher powers, whose simple wish is 
acknowledged law, and, as with the savage, it is 
a question of scalps, peltries, or ponies, with his 
civilized prototype it is an affair of houses and 
lands, bank-stocks and bonds. 

The Italian was greatly chagrined at the result 
of his courtship, and the men, who were far 
from according him that respect to which he was 
entitled as theii commander, never failing to 
make his unsuccessful wooing the turning point 
of a joke when occasion offered, ended, by thus 
applying the keen whip of sarcasm, in lashing 
him into a fury, when he swore he would have 
the wom.an, if he had to take her by force. 

Learning from one of the other women that 
there was a certain spot near the river’s bank 
where Nawatonah often spent whole days alone, 
he proposed to Gonzales to surprise her there 
and bring her away to the camp, and Pablo en- 
tered the more willingly into the enterprise in 
that he saw in it the prospect of a rupture with 
the natives. This fierce, bloodthirsty spirit was 
getting weary of the peaceful days that came and 
went without a change. 

Two days later the victim of this conspiracy 
was a prisoner in the little chamber used for a 
store room, the stores having been removed and 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


41 


the narrow window secured with stout, oaken 
bars. 

As Gonzales had anticipated, as soon as this 
outrage became known to the Indians the 
amicable relations hitherto existing between 
them and the Spaniards were abruptly brought 
to an end. 

The warriors at once withdrew to the forest, 
where a grand council of sachems was held. The 
young man to whom the girl was affianced ap- 
peared before them and with thrilling words 
spoke of the great wrong done him, giving a 
vivid description of the dastardly manner in 
which his promised bride had been captured by 
the white men, and demanding that she be re- 
stored to him at once, without delay. Fier}^ 
impatient, fearless, and supported by a band of 
warriors as young and hot-headed as himself, 
he would have gone immediately to take a 
bloody revenge, but the older and wiser chiefs, 
knowing the Spaniards, with their strange 
weapons, whose mysterious death-dealing pow- 
ers they had seen demonstrated on the game in 
the woods, to be formidable enemies to cope 
with, counseled patience, and forbade any such 
undertaking until negotiation had been tried; 
promising, if that failed to restore the maiden to 
liberty, then to war against the strangers, and 
war once inaugurated simply meant extermina- 
tion to the weaker party in the end, for when the 
Indian has once dipped the tomahawk in blood 


42 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


no thought of mercy ever stays his hand. He 
knows not what mercy is. He may have faith — 
faith in his gods, in his own cunning, courage 
and powers of endurance; he may have charity — 
that charity which bids him feed the hungry and 
give drink to the thirsty. But mercy? never! 
Mercy is essentially a Christian virtue, and he 
who hath it not is nearly akin to the savage. 

Accordingly an embassy, consisting of sev- 
eral old chiefs, proceeded on the mission, with 
that solemn gravity supposed to be becoming 
on all such occasions. Through the medium of 
one of the women who had learned a little Span- 
ish from her white spouse, the cause of complaint 
was made known and the release of the woman 
held in captivity required at the hands of her 
captors. 

Their demand was answered with shouts of 
laughter and jeers, and they themselves were 
treated with contumely. The arrogant Span- 
iards, remembering the prowess of their country- 
men in Mexico and Peru, held the natives of all 
America in great contempt. They had yet to 
learn the difference between the full-blooded, 
untamed savage and a race rendered effeminate 
by a sort of bastard civilization, which, while it 
destroys man’s powers of endurance, does not 
substitute real courage for natural ferocity. 

The embassy, its equanimity undisturbed by 
the levity of the whites, returned as it had come, 
and the affair was treated by the rude soldiers 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 45 

as a matter for jesting. Nevertheless, Pablo 
Gonzales set them to work at once, and before 
many hours had passed there was a parallel of 
earthwork extending from water to water across 
the peninsula. The workers grumbled at being 
required to perform such useless labor, as they 
considered it, but after it was completed and they 
found that all the women save two had deserted 
the camp, they began to think it was as well to 
be prepared for any emergency, and even made 
no objections when a guard was told off and put 
on duty with instructions to be watchful against 
surprise. Nawatonah, shut in her prison, did 
not know what was going on without, but she 
doubted not the warriors would soon come to 
her rescue, and patiently waited, listening for 
the sound of the war-whoop. 


44 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


CHAPTER V. 

A hut was erected near a little sally-port for 
the guard, and here the bugler, whose instrument 
had been heretofore used only for the amusement 
of his comrades and the savages, took up his 
quarters, and every morning and evening now 
the mellow musical notes could be heard calling 
the garrison to duty or warning it to rest. For 
several days there were no signs of any hostile 
movement on the part of the Indians. The only 
sounds that came from the forest, the borders of 
which were about one hundred yards distant 
from the fortifications erected by Gonzales, were 
the songs of birds in the daytime and the cries 
of wild beasts or the hooting of the great horned 
owl at night. 

The moon was near the full, and the women 
said no attack need be looked for until the nights 
were dark. But in this they were mistaken. 
That very night one of the sentinels perceived 
something moving about just outside the earth- 
works. He thought it was some animal, and 
would have let it pass unmolested, but for the 
fact that the men had had no meat for several 
days, and thinking this a good opportunity to 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 45 

secure some, fired his arquebuse at the prowler. 
The effect of his shot was startling. Immediate- 
ly the space in front of the earthworks became 
alive with dark forms, brandishing their arms 
and yelling hideously. It was as if an army of 
devils had sprung out of the ground. Had the 
savages charged at once, without hesitation, they 
would in all probability have gained an entrance 
into the camp, but for a few moments they stood 
irresolute, and in those few moments the relief 
guard had turned out prepared to repel storm- 
ers, while the bugle calling to arms, roused all 
the garrison. 

A volley was poured into the now advancing 
Indians, which caused them to halt again, when 
a second from those of the soldiers off duty who 
had arrived on the scene of conflict forced them 
to return to the shelter of the forest, carrying 
their dead and wounded with them. 

This enterprise had been undertaken by 
Thiesico, the betrothed of Nawatonah, and the 
young braves who sympathized with him, with- 
out consulting the elders of the tribe, whose pol- 
icy of delay did not suit his impetuous spirit. 
He had expected to take the Spaniards by sur- 
prise, and had he succeeded the insubordination 
would have been overlooked — he would have 
been a hero. As it was, crestfallen, disgraced, 
he retired from the companionship of his fellows 
and awaited an opportunity to retrieve his char- 
acter. 


46 A Step-daughter of Israel. 

There was little likelihood of the Spaniards 
being taken by surprise now — the first attempt 
having proved so very nearly successful had put 
them more on their guard — but hostilities having 
been openly begun, the savages gathered along 
the edge of the forest and filled the air with their 
arrows, to which the garrison replied with arque- 
buses, and one of the falconets, which had been 
placed in an angle of the earthworks so as to 
command the approach either way, the other 
having been planted in a little redoubt on the 
river-bank in charge of a few men posted there 
to patrol the stream. 

At first the Indians were frightened by the 
loud report of the cannon, which they had never 
seen fired before; but soon perceiving that the 
principal harm inflicted by these terrible engines 
was to the timber, the balls thrown by them tear- 
ing through the trees over their heads and only 
hurting those who remained in the rear, they 
recovered from the panic that had seized them, 
and uttering yells of defiance, sent fresh flights of 
arrows into the camp. 

Thus the battle continued several days, with 
a loss to the Spaniards of one man killed out- 
right and several wounded, more or less serious- 
ly, when all demonstrations on the part of the 
Indians suddenly ceased. It was impossible to 
tell whether they had withdrawn from the field 
or not, and a sortie was determined upon to set- 
tle the question. 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


47 


Under the command of Gonzales a party of 
twenty-five men, fully accoutred for fight, went 
forth and proceeded toward the forest. They 
marched quickly, and as they approached the 
dark line of giant pines held their pieces ready 
for action; but not an arrow cleft the air, not an 
Indian was to be seen. The silence of death 
reigned where the war-whoop had lately re- 
sounded; for the birds, those lovers of peace and 
harmony, that had been wont to fill the woods 
with music, had fled, affrighted by the hideous 
sounds of human conflict. 

Penetrating the forest a considerable distance 
without finding a human being, dead or alive, 
the Spaniards returned to the camp, satisfied 
that there was no enemy in their immediate vicin- 
ity; yet fearing the Indians had only withdrawn 
for a time to await a favorable opportunity for a 
renewal of the attack, the vigilance of the gar- 
rison was not relaxed, and every man slept on 
his arms, prepared to hasten to his post at the 
bugle’s call. 

In the meantime the lack of meat, and also of 
bread, began to be seriously felt by the garrison, 
for with the interruption of their peaceful inter- 
course with the natives had ceased the supply of 
maize and game which had been freely furnished 
by them. There was always an abundance of 
fish, but the men were tired of such lenten diet, 
and longed for a change. Their cry was for 
bread more than meat. 


48 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


Civilized man suffers more from lack of bread 
than from lack of any other article of food. The 
richest viands lose their savor without it, and 
fish above all things becomes an abomination to 
his palate. Bread is truly the staff of life to him. 

The two women hearing their complaints, 
showed them how by chopping off the tops of 
the palmetto stalks a soft substance could be 
obtained which, dried and pounded into a sort 
of flour, made into cakes and baked, served as 
a sort of bread. This substance is the young,, 
tender shoot or bud of this otherwise very tough 
plant, which is of about the consistency of the 
Brazil nut, and has, indeed, a very nutty flavor. 

With this substitute for bread, and the fish, 
which were easily captured, there was no danger 
from actual starvation at any rate, though the 
viands might pall on the palate. 

Nearly two weeks had passed and the savages 
had made no further demonstrations. It was 
the dusky hour of twilight. Camp fires were 
burning brightly, casting flickering, ruddy lights 
on the hardened faces and gleaming armor of the 
men gathered around them. At one of these the 
two women were cooking, and there was a group 
of about a dozen soldiers lounging. 

‘‘Methinks,” said one of the latter, ‘‘the sav- 
ages have had eno’ o’ fighting, and will trouble 
us no more.” 

“Eh, Cornelio,” responded a comrade, “think- 
est thou so?” 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 49 

^^Ay, truly.” 

*^And wherefore, amigo?” 

‘‘Ah, Jose mio, thou didst not go into the for- 
est. Hadst thou done so thou’dst have seen 
what work our bombas made among the trees, 
and thouMst have had thy answer without word 
of mine.” 

“Caramba! trees are not men, bobo. Didst 
see any dead men, prithee?” 

“Nay, ’tis not in reason that we should, sith 
doubtless they were disposed of ere our sally.” 

“That may be,” said Jose, “but I doubt me the 
living will not be so easily disposed of. They 
will return anon, and their arrows are not to be 
despised. I, for one, would we were well away 
from here.” 

“Ay, their arrows make a cruel wound,” said 
another man, joining in the conversation; “ask 
my comrade, poor Lorenzo, other: he had one 
through his thigh, and says heM rather two bul- 
lets any day than one long shaft like that.” 

“ Tis not so long,” said another, “sith the 
bow went out of use in Europe, and I believe the 
English still have their archers. The archery of 
those island brigands was something to marvel 
at, they tell me.” 

“ Tis true,” said Jose. “I had a comrade 
once — one of those same Englishmen — and he 
told me of a fellow who would put you a shaft 
in the centre of a target and then split that in 
twain with another.” 


50 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

''An’ I could draw a bow like that,” said Cor- 
nelio, "I’d e’en throw away mine arquebuse and 
trust to the long shaft.” 

"But tell us, Jose,” said one, "how came it 
about that thou, who so hatest these islanders, 
should e’er have chosen one of them for thy 
comrade?” 

"Ah,’ replied Jose, "thou say’st truly, Alejan- 
dro. I hate the islanders with a right honest 
hatred; and yet, nath’less, I once had such an 
one for comrade. As thou know’st full well, the 
free companies serve him readiest whose con- 
science sitteth lightest in its shell and whose 
purse strings are ever the loosest. Now the 
Count Beppo — we ne’er knew him by other name 
— was a captain o’ that mood, and he had them 
of all nations in his band — English, French, 
Dutch, Italians, Spaniards — and thou’dst ne’er 
have known the one had e’er drawn blade ’gainst 
t’other, such good friends were they, fighting and 
foraying together, without respect of king or 
church. But each one of us had his boon com- 
panion, and the two went share and share alike, 
whether of blows or booty, and my comarado 
was an Englishman, as I have already told thee, 
and a buen muchacho was he, of a verity.” 

"And what ever became of this same pate- 
breaker, amigo?” 

"He e’en got his own pate cracked in a brawl 
ere I could come to the rescue, and so there’s 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 5 1 

not an Englishman alive now that I can other- 
wise than hate.^' 

While the men continued talking in this vim, 
a low musical sound, gradually increasing in vol- 
ume, arose, apparently from the sea. 

All heard it, and suddenly became silent, look- 
ing at each other inquiringly. The strain was 
something like that of a solemn hymn. It passed 
slowly around the camp along the verge of the 
forest, and returning to the sea, whence it came, 
died away. 

‘'What is it?’’ asked Rossi, who was standing 
a little way from the group. 

“Nawatonah,” said one of the Indian women 
in a scared tone — “the song of Nawatonah’s peo- 
ple.” 

The story of Nawatonah was known in the 
camp, and all understood. Rossi stood a mo- 
ment listening, as if he would catch the sound 
again, then went to his quarters. Before enter- 
ing his own apartment he quietly drew the bolt 
of the other room and looked in. He could just 
see, by the starlight, a dark form that, seated on 
the floor, rocked itself from side to side singing, 
in a low voice, the same solemn, strain he had 
just heard. 


52 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE OLD WORLD. 

In a dingy wine-shop in one of the narrowest 
thoroughfares of Seville two men sat at a rough 
deal table drinking. These men belonged to a 
class very numerous at that time in Europe — 
unscrupulous knaves, who hired themselves to 
any master, who, having need for such villains 
to further his ambitious or nefarious projects, 
was willing to pay well for their services. We 
have an identical class of rascals at the present 
day. They are chiefly employed by politicians 
for purposes quite as foul as those in which their 
prototypes were engaged in the fifteenth and six- 
teenth centuries. 

They were dressed in leathern jerkins, over 
which steel cuirasses were buckled, their 
breeches were of some thick woolen stuff, and 
on their feet they wore heavy, cowhide boots, 
reaching up to the knees; at their sides, the 
short swords then in vogue among Spanish 
troops. Their steel head-pieces — casques — lay 
on the table with a couple of poniards, which 
they had been using to cut slices from a loaf of 
coarse bread. In England these men would 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. §3 

doth seem to me, friend Tito,’’ said one of 
the meii, ‘^that this is a sort of dog’s life we lead 
here; with naught to do but eat, drink, sleep 
and draw our pay.” 

As he ceased speaking he lifted his flagon to 
his lips, and did not set it down again until it 
was empty. ‘‘By the Holy Mass! but you are 
well qualified to do the one of these same, of a 
surety, Captain Jaqueton,” replied Tito, laugh- 
ing. 

“As to the matter of wine-bibbing, an’ that be 
what thou meanest, friend Tito,” replied the 
Captain, “I can drink a bout with the next one, 
be he whom he may; for eating and sleeping — 
why, they come by nature. We eat to live and 
sleep to rest, while we drink to be merry. Is’t 
not so, amigo?” 

“Troth, and you are right,” said Tito, “though, 
for my part, I cannot find it in the heart of me 
to be merry in a dungeon hole like this, though 
I drown myself with drink.” 

“No, nor I,” said Jaqueton. “Give me a nook 
i’ the greenwood, with a score of good fellows 
and a runlet of wine borrowed from some greasy 
burgess. Ha! ha!” laughing and slapping his 
companion on the back, “to drink, to sleep — to 
wake and drink again, with no roaring lion of 
an host to call for a reckoning and empty one’s 
pouch when one’s belly is full. How doth the 
picture like thee, comrade?” 


54 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

liketh me full well/’ replied Tito. ^‘What 
more could a true man ask?'’ 

‘‘What more, truly, an’ a little in the way of 
love and adventure be added, by way of variety?” 

“Ha! love and adventure. Now do you prick 
my memory, most noble Captain; for I have in 
charge, at the present speaking, on account of 
our good lord the count, an affair that smacketh 
of both, and which hath in it a fair stroke of 
profit. I can scarce undertake this enterprise 
alone, and el senor conde hath left it to me to 
choose my own comrade.” 

“Ha! say’st thou so!” cried Jacqueton, prick- 
ing up his ears, and calling lustily for more 
wine. 

“Ay, sooth,” replied Tito, “and no better 
man than yourself, mi capitanazOy know I for the 
prosecution of such an affair. For your cour-^ 
wear your credentials on your cheek, 
and I doubt not your discretion.” 

“Thou say’st well, comrade,” replied the 
other. “These same credentials,” touching the 
scar on his cheek with his finger, “were bestow- 
ed upon me by a villain Dutchman, who had a 
mind to shave me with one stroke of his sword ; 
but I shaved him cleaner than he did me, I 
promise thee.” 

“I doubt it not, senor capitano.” 

“As for my discretion — an’ there be secrets to 
be kept nor rack nor thumbscrew will tear them 
from me. But here’s the wine. That villain boy' 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. SS 

hath been to Catalonia to fetch it, methinks. 
Drink deep and stint not, and then will we dis- 
cuss this same emprise of thine.’’ 

Tito was not slow to accept this invitation, 
and wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his jerkin, 
proceeded. ‘‘A primo, then,” he said ^‘you must 
know that our lord, the count, is in We.” 

^‘Ha, ha,” laughed Jacqueton; ‘‘’tis ever so with 
your noble caballero — at war or in love — to-day 
fighting, to-morrow billing and cooing. Of a 
truth, he is never idle — cutting throats or clip- 
ping kisses — ’tis ever his humor. As the French- 
man hath it, vive la guerre! Vive I’amour!” 

‘T know naught of your Frenchmen,” 
grumbled Tito, who was an Aragonese, and 
hated the French with a cordial hatred. 

‘‘How should’st thou? thou ne’er hast traveled 
i’ the world as I have. Thou wert ne’er i’ the 
Netherlands, where they talk as much French as 
Dutch. But that’s none to thy discredit, com- 
rade. Thou hast fought the Morisco and Mos- 
lem Turk, and I doubt not thy good blade hath 
left its mark among them. 

^‘But thou hast told me naught of the count’s 
affair, nor how I am to employ my discretion 
and my valor in his service.” 

“ ’Twill not take long i’ the telling,” respond- 
ed Tito. 

^'A secondo, you must know there liveth in 
Seville a Jew ” 


56 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

'‘A Jew! By our Lady! there be more than 
one Jew in Seville, methinks.'' 

‘‘Ay, true enough. But this is a particular 
Jew.’’ 

“Ah! a particular Jew is he?” 

“Well, ay — yet not exactly a Jew either. He 
hath been a Jew once, as were his fathers before 
him, but now he passeth for a Christian.” 

“He passeth for a Christian. Certes, ’tis well 
put; for I trust your Christian- Jew no more than 
your Christian-Turk. It standeth to reason — 
your Christian-Jew must be an unnatural beast; 
for, mark thou, amigo, the beast that is neither 
fish nor flesh, is a foul beast, ha, ha! But I per- 
ceive thy drift. This Jew — this Christian-Jew, 
or Jew-Christian — hath a daughter — a dainty 
chick ” 

“Nay, nay,” interrupted Tito, “’tis this way: 
This Basilio Murillo, this Bemberak, to call him 
by his name in Jewry, hath a granddaughter, 
and she hath as fine a presence as any she in Se- 
ville.” 

“Thou hast then seen her, comrade.” 

“Ay, that have I, as who hath not that is no 
stranger in this good city?” 

“And doth she affect my lord, the count?” 

“How mean you?” 

“Doth she reciprocate his tendresse? — in 
short, and in plain speech, does she love him?” 

“Not she. She’ll none of him nor any otHer 
he in Spain. She hath an air that holdeth men 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 57 

aloof, and not the brassiest man in Seville dare 
approach her save in a civil way/^ 

‘‘Cuerpo de San Antonio! but this must be a 
demoiselle doucette/' cried Jacqueton. ‘'Yet, nath"- 
less, she’s but the granddaughter of a Jew.” 

“I know not what your demoiselle doucette 
may be, but ’tis certain she’s the granddaughter 
of a Jew.” 

“Ay, and therefore accessible if approached 
with proper science of war. Like any other cita- 
del, an’ she yield not at discretion to parley, then 
may she be carried by assault.” 

“ ’Tis as you say, noble captain; she is to be 
carried by assault, for she will listen to no par- 
ley.” 

“Ah!” ejaculated Jacqueton, “then I conceive 
’tis to be a case of trapanning the shy bird that 
will not come to the fowler’s call.” 

“Ay,” replied Tito, nodding his head. 

“Good. But first — a primo as thou say’st — let’s 
look into the matter. Hath this demoiselle — 
this girl, I mean — no kindred save this old Jew?” 

“There be kindred, but they dwell not in 
Seville. Her mother was of Castilian blood, but 
she did quit this wicked world when this other 
she came into ’t, and her people sometime after 
went away — moved bag and baggage, goods and 
gear, but where they went I know not — back to 
Castile, whence they came, ’tis like.” 

“It importh not where to they went, so they 
be not in Seville. Your Castilian is the very 


S8 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

devil to deal with where the honor of one of his 
blood is concerned. But, marry! what hath the 
granddaughter of a dog Jew to do with honor? 
Certes ’tis honor eno’ for her to be the object of 
my lord’s desires.” 

"‘So say I, senor capitano. Honor cometh to 
such as she through the honorable considera- 
tion of such as my lord.” 

‘‘Of a verity, amigo. But to the point! When 
and where is this pretty bird to be caught?” 

“Beyond the limits of Seville close to the river 
is a small plantation of larches, ilix and other 
trees to which doth she oft resort with her 
dog ” 

“Hath she a dog, then?” 

“Ay, a little beast of the spaniel breed that 
followeth at her heels where’er she goes.” 

“I like not the dog, comrade. I’ve known a 
dog to rout a full score of tall fellows who would 
have stood their ground against double their 
number of turbaned Turks.” 

“With stroke of sword we can dispatch the 
dog, clap mufflers on the pretty mouth ere it 
can cry out ” 

“And then off and away to my lord’s castle — 
eh? Is that the plan of campaign, amigo?” 

“Nay, not to his castle, capitano mio, but to a 
little nest he hath prepared for her.” 

“Ay, the dove to the dove’s nest, where the 
eagle will visit her. Good. And when is this 
comedia d'amor to be enacted?” 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 59 

^'Come Whitsunday she’ll to. the shrine of 
Nuestra Senora de los barqueros, by the river, with 
an offering of flowers — ’tis her wont ” 

‘'Ay, ’tis ever the wont of these same Jews, 
be they he or she Jews, to play the hypocrite, to 
make proper Christians believe they love the 
Holy Mother and The Son.” 

“Be that as it may, ’tis her wont to lay such 
offerings on that selfsame shrine every feast day 
an hour or two before set of sun, and thence she 
goeth into the wood to ramble with her dog; 
and there we may take her without fear of res- 
cue, for ’tis a place solitary and little frequented 
in ordinary.” 

“Be it so, then and to-morrow sennight be- 
ing Candlemas we have ample time to settle all 
preliminaries. Now must I be marching, hav- 
ing a trifling love affair of mine own to attend 
to, and, as thou must know full well, amigo, love 
and patience abide not together in the breast of 
woman.” 

The two worthies quitted the wine-shop to- 
gether, and as soon as they were gone a young 
man, accoutered like them in cuirass and casque, 
and armed with sword and poniard, but evidently 
belonging to a higher social class than they, 
made his appearance in a doorway that con- 
nected the room in which they had been sitting 
with one in the rear of it. Passing to the door 
that opened into the street, he looked after them 


^60 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

RS they went swaggering along, jostling such 
citizens as came in their way. 

. ‘‘A precious pair of knaves, truly,’’ he mut- 
tered. ‘'Brigands, forsooth! Ay, and worse 
than brigands, sith under the shadow of some 
greater villain, ye follow the trade with little fear 
of punishment. I would I had caught the name 
of the old Jew on whom their discourse turned; 
in that case a word of warning would have put 
this thoughtless maiden on her guard; as ’tis, I 
must e’en trust to being at hand to render her 
what assistance I may. ’Tis fortunate I know 
the place the villain did designate, and fitting 
place it is for such an ambuscade — the marvel is 
that any maid should go there alone.” 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


6 1 


CHAPTER VIL 

In the afternoon of Whitsunday the cavalier 
Avho had overheard the conversation of the men- 
at-arms in the wine-shop stepped into a little 
boat and pulled slowly up the Guadalquiver. He 
knew about where the shrine of Nuestra Senora 
de los barqueros stood, and when he had passed 
that point turned the boat’s bow shoreward 
and with a few vigorous strokes of his oars sent 
her in among the thick, overhanging, water-lov- 
ing shrubs that lined the river’s bank, where she 
lay effectually concealed. Having made her se- 
cure by twisting the rope attached to her bow 
around a stout branch, he clambered up to the 
road which followed the windings of the stream' 
to Cordova. 

Assuring himself that there was no one in 
sight, he first went to the little wayside shrine. 

‘'She hath not as yet been here,” he said, no- 
ticing there were no fresh flowers lying at the 
feet of the rude image of the Virgin. 

Then examining his sword and poniard to see 
that they were in good order, he looked about 
him thoughtfully, and perceiving a thicket of 
laurels not very far off ,entered it and stretched 
himself at full length on the ground, where he 


62 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


lay concealed from the view of any who might 
chance to pass that way. He had not been en- 
sconced in his hiding place very long when he 
heard the clatter of horses' hoofs and presently 
Tito and his friend, Captain Jaqueton, rode by. 
From where he was stationed the cavalier could 
see a considerable distance along the road, and 
watched them until he saw them turn off into the 
woods. Then he arose from the ground and 
approached the shrine again, where he stood a 
little while cogitating and debating with himself 
as to his next step. 

‘'Now doubtless this foolish damsel will be 
here anon,’' he said; “shall I await her coming 
and warn her of the peril that lies before her, or 
shall I permit her to go her ways and myself 
follow her? 'Tis plain she needeth a lesson that 
will make her more circumspect i' the future; and 
'twere well to bestow upon these knaves some 
chastisement that shall make them afeard to 
venture on such open villainy again. 'Twill go 
hard an' I, a Castilian cavalier and knight of 
Spain, cannot beat two such rascals as these be." 

Flis knightly pride aroused by these thoughts, 
he returned to his place of concealment, where 
he awaited with some impatience the coming of 
the damsel in question. Nearly an hour elapsed 
and he began to think the two villains lying in 
ambush in the woods would be disappointed of 
their prey without his interference, when the 
joyous barking of a dog attracted his attention. 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. “ 63 

and directly a spaniel came running past, fol- 
lowed in a little while by a young woman, who 
walked with the stately grace of a queen. 

‘‘By the mass!’’ murmured the cavalier, as he 
igazed at her through an opening in the leafy 
screen that concealed him. “ Tis the maiden I 
encountered some three years or more agone on 
the quay. Aye, ’tis surely she, and that’s the 
very dog I saved from drowning.” 

Just then the maiden called, in a voice rich and 
sweet, “Carlos, Carlos, come here, sehor,” and 
the dog came running back, leaping up to kiss 
the hand held out to him. “Down, down!” said 
his mistress, pointing to the ground, when he 
immediately lay down close to her and remained 
quiet while she knelt in front of the shrine and 
said a prayer, after which, rising and making 
the sign of the cross, she deposited her offering 
of flowers at the feet of the Virgin. 

What would the cavalier have thought had 
he known that he himself, though his name was 
unknown to her, was the chief beneficiary of 
her prayer? — that it had been the practice of 
this maiden to seek Our Lady of the Boatmen — 
because she had last seen him in a boat, floating 
away from her on the river, whose flowing mur- 
murs mingled with the murmur of her voice 
while she prayed to beseech her protecting care 
for him, wherever he might be, on land or sea, 
only asking for herself that she might be blest 
with the sight of him once more. 


64 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

She took a ball from the sachet that she wore 
at her girdle, and threw it along the road, and 
the dog scampered after it, tumbling over and 
over in his eagerness to catch it, which made 
her laugh a musical laugh that was echoed from 
the opposite side of the river, making such a 
round of merriment that one might have fan- 
cied the naiads of the stream and the dryads of 
the wood had met there for a merrymaking. 

But in a few minutes the dog and his mistress 
suddenly disappeared, and the cavalier, coming 
out of the thicket, hastened along the road until 
he came to a little path leading off into the wood. 
Turning into this he soon caught sight of her 
bright-colored skirt, fluttering away among the 
shadows of the ilex and arbutus, the laurels and 
larches that skirted the way. 

Antonia, devoid of fear, penetrated deeper and 
deeper the sylvan solitude until she came to a 
spot particularly wild, where tree and shrub 
grew in great luxuriance, owing to the fact that 
a copious stream of limpid water, flowing from 
a half-ruined fountain, kept the soil in its neigh- 
borhood in a constantly moist condition. She 
stopped here and, leaning over the broken basin 
of the fountain, dipped her hand in the cool 
liquid. But the sweet waters were not destined 
to reach the sweeter lips, for just then the two 
armed men, Tito and Jaqueton,, slipping out of 
the deep shade of the thickly-growing trees, 
came upon her from behind. One little scream 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 65 

was all she uttered, the lower part of her face 
being immediately muffled in a scarf. But Car- 
los was not far off, and, hearing the single dis- 
tressful cry, flew to the aid of his mistress, seiz- 
ing the heavy boot of one of her assailants at 
the ankle, shaking and tugging at it with might 
and main. 

Though the teeth of the dog could not pen- 
etrate the coarse leather, the man was angered 
at the audacity of the courageous little beast, 
and, drawing his sword, struck fiercely at it. 
The blow was well aimed, but with one of those 
quick movements by which diogs — respecially 
little ones — avoid such blows, Carlos let go his 
hold, dodging the weapon, and twirling round like 
a top, returned with increased fury to the attack, 
while his mistress, now passive in the hands of 
her other captor, looked on with horror-dis- 
tended eyes, expecting to see her beloved friend 
decapitated. But the soldier had been obliged 
to face about to meet the second assault of his 
adversary, and, as his sword descended with a 
vicious whiz, he was astonished to find it stopped 
in its career by another blade, held so firmly 
that the clash of the two weapons jarred his arm 
to the shoulder. < 

The young cavalier who had been following 
Antonia, as soon as he saw the ruffians seize 
her had hastened to her assistance, but the two 
soldiers and their captive had been so intent on 


66 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

the movements of the dog that they had not 
observed him, and, before they could recover 
from their astonishment, the sword of Captain 
Jacqueton, Carlos’s antagonist, flew high in the 
air and fell far beyond his reach. 

The fellow, seeing he had only one to deal 
with, grasped his poniard and called upon Tito 
to come to his assistance, but before he could 
make another move, or his comrade obey his 
summons, the blade of the cavalier pierced his 
right shoulder, and his arm fell powerless to his 
side. 

Carlos, taking advantage of the timely arrival 
of an ally, rushed in to the attack once more, and 
finding he could make no impression on his 
enemy’s boot, aimed higher, burying his teeth 
in the leg itself; so leaving the disabled man to 
contend with his four-legged foe, the cavalier 
turned his attention to Tito, who had drawn his 
sword but seemed in no haste to advance. 

The man-at-arms may have been as good a 
swordsman as his adversary, but there was some- 
thing in the steady, flashing glance of the stran- 
ger’s eyes that confused -and bewildered him, 
and, retreating before the rapid thrusts, which 
he barely had the presence of mind to parry, he 
stumbled and fell flat on his back. 

‘*Mercy, senor!” he cried, as he felt the weight 
of a foot upon him, and saw the glistening point 
of a weapon close to his throat. 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 67 

''Mercy r' echoed the cavalier, contempt- 
uously. "Think'st thou that such as thou art 
deserve mercy at the hands of honest men? 
Were’t not that the blood of so vile a caitiff dis- 
honoreth the weapon it stains, Fd rid the world 
of thee at once. But get thee up and begone,’’ 
permitting the fellow to rise, "and henceforth 
bear this in mind — if any honest thought can 
find a resting-place there — the soldier should be 
true as well as brave, should protect the weak, 
not aid in their destruction.” 

Captain Jaqueton had already quitted the field, 
and Tito now followed him, leaving the victor 
alone with the captive he had rescued. 

An ejaculation of disgust escaped the lips of 
the young soldier, as he drove the point of his 
sword into the ground to cleanse it of the blood 
of the man he had wounded, and then, returning 
it to his scabbard and doffing his steel cap, he 
spoke to the girl. 

"I fear me you are hurt, senorita,” he said. 
"These rough soldiers have rough ways and 
touch not aught with gentle hands.” 

She had torn the scarf from her face as soon 
as Tito had released her, and with downcast 
eyes awaited the approach of her champion. 
The color had forsaken her face, and she stood 
leaning against the fountain — still as a statue, 
save for a little tremulous movement in the eye- 
lids and lips; while the dog Carlos licked the 


68 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


hand hanging listlessly at her side, craving some 
sign of approbation. 

‘Thanks to your senoria, I am not hurt,’^ she 
replied, in a low, unsteady voice, still looking 
on the ground. 

“But you are very pale. Of a surety, you are 
hurt or ill.'’ 

“Those rude nien frightened me,” she said; 
“but there is no harm done,” and, lifting her eyes 
to his, she looked at him with an expression that, 
being no adept at reading women’s hearts 
through their faces, puzzled him. Had he pos- 
sessed a tithe of that shallow wit of the Love- 
laces who, in all ages, have fluttered about my 
lady’s bower, he would have seen that gratitude 
was not all it implied. There was a little spot on 
the maiden’s band — she had often kissed it in 
secret — that burned now, white as it was to all 
outward seeming, with a strange, feverish heat, 
which radiated to her heart and appeared to set 
it on fire. But, as he had said, she was very pale 
— as pale as marble, and almost as still, and how 
was he to know that the blood was coursing 
through her veins like a wild, riotous torrent, 
while every pulse in her body was throbbing as 
if it would burst. The very truth was: Julio 
Hernandez was as poor in his knowledge of the 
gentler sex as he was in purse. 

He had always been told by his nearest rela- 
tive — an aunt with whom he had lived since he 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 69 

ws a boy of ten, when he lost both father and 
mother — that he was ugly and awkward, and, 
though he knew he had changed, that his long, 
big-boned limbs had filled out with solid muscle 
and v/ere now not only shapely but strong, that 
his red hair had taken a darker shade, he did 
not know that he had grown into so magnificent 
a specimen of noble manhood as to be an object 
of admiration wherever he went. The feeling 
that had been induced by his aunfs uncompli- 
mentary words still clung to him in a measure, 
and that, with his poverty, had made him rather 
shy of female society. 

‘‘Your dog is whining for your notice, senor- 
ita,^' he said. “He is a brave little varlet and de- 
serveth a reward.” 

“Yes,” she replied, laying her hand on the 
animal's head and toying with its long, silky 
ears. “Poor Carlos! Had the wicked man killed 
thee I know not what thy unhappy mistress 
would have done. I was your debtor for his 
life before, sefior, and now you have added so 
greatly to the debt that I can ne'er hope to dis- 
charge it.” 

She said this with a voice tremulous with emo- 
tion, while a faint color stole into her cheeks. 
This girl, usually self-reliant and brave, was 
weak and trembled in the presence of this one 
man. 

“ 'Tis nothing, senorita,” he replied, not 
knowing what else to say, and yet feeling that 


70 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


there was something uncomplimentary to the 
maiden in putting it so. He was unaccustomed 
to the conventionalisms of society, and could not 
have made one of those flattering speeches which 
mean so little, for his life’s ransom. The man. 
was all frankness, and, had he spoken his mind, 
would have told her he thought her a very foolish 
maiden; but his nature, though frank, was not 
blunt and rude, so he simply said what he did 
think, Tis nothing, senorita,” and added,, 
after a little pause, ''Methinks you have been in- 
discreet.” 

She thought he was going to lecture her, and 
stood ready and willing to be lectured by him. 

‘^You should not go unattended, and espe- 
cially should you avoid solitary places like this. 
There are many knaves such as those we have 
just parted with who would murder you for a 
ducat.” 

This was the sum and substance of his lecture, 
and she was sorry it was so. short: she would 
have been pleased to listen to a lecture an hour 
longer had it pleased him to deliver it. 

‘The advice your senoria is so good as to 
bestow upon me shall not go unheeded,” she 
said. 

‘T am but a young counselor,” he replied, 
^‘and one who hath had little experience of your 
sex, but it seemeth to me that a maiden cannot 
be too circumspect in such rude times as these.. 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 7 I 

And now, with your permission, I will conduct 
you to your home.’’ 

So they walked along the woodland path to- 
gether, she perfectly happy, and feeling that she 
would be content to walk with him thus through 
life; and he — well, in spite of her grand, queenly 
beauty, feeling as though he had been entrusted 
with the care of a truant child. 

Naturally the thoughts of both recurred to the 
day when they met upon the quay. He saw in 
her the girl, little more than a child, holding the 
wet dog in her arms, crying and laughing over 
it, and she in him her beau ideal of a noble cava- 
lier. The fact was, in the stirring life he had led 
since that day, he had almost forgotten her, 
while to her he had been ever present, living in 
her heart, where he had taken up his abode for 
all time, perhaps for all eternity. 

Arriving at the road by the river, she turned 
her face toward the city, and was proceeding in 
that direction when he arrested her footsteps. 

‘"Sehorita,” he said, ‘T have a barqueta near 
at hand, an’ you fear not the water, ’twill prove 
the quicker and the pleasanter journey.” 

She had no fear of the water, and made no 
objection to his proposal, though the quickness 
of the journey was no inducement: she only 
feared the barqueta would glide too swiftly. But 
she did not tell him this — it was a whisper of her 
heart to her soul — and, seated in the stern of the 
boat, Carlos, crouching at her feet, with his head 


72 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


in her lap, she enjoyed the rapture of the 
moment to its fullest. “O, that the Guadal- 
quiver were the river of life, and that we might 
glide on, on, on, thus forever!” was her mental 
wish. 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


73 


CHAPTER VIIL 

*Tt seems this young cavalier doth always 
appear upon the scene just i’ the nick o’ time to 
render thee a service,” said Beneberak. 

There was a savor of sarcasm in the tone of 
the old man’s voice, and Antonia looked up 
quickly from the broidery on which she was 
engaged, while the color in her cheeks deepened 
from rose to scarlet. 

^'What mean you, grandfather?” she asked. 

^'Why, marry! doth it not seem so? Was he 
not fortunately near at hand when thy dog was 
in peril of drowning? Just at a time, too, when 
all other cavaliers were following the King. 
And here again, yestere’en, who but he should 
come to thy rescue when thou, with thy indis- 
creet folly, had placed thyself in jeopardy?” 

Tis true,” replied the girl; ‘‘but what would 
you? He was there, no other being near, and 
though I must e’en confess I owed my misfor- 
tune to mine own indiscretion, as you say, that 
doth not lessen the degree of my gratitude.” 

^^And thinkest thou he’ll content him with thy 
gratitude? ’Tis a coin of light weight, and these 
gallants value it not. They want the quid pro 
quo, as the doctors of the law have it, and your 


74 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

gratitude is a mere sentiment of no worth in the 
market.’’ 

''Oh, grandfather, how can you be so ungen- 
erous — to harbor such base suspicions of a noble 
gentleman?” 

"Child, child! an ’thou didst know the world 
as I know it, thou’dst scarce ask so silly a ques- 
tion. But did not this same noble gentleman 
tell thee his name ?” 

"Nay. Yet, nath’less, I know it.” 

"How’s this, wench? How shouldst thou 
know his name an’ he not tell it thee?” 

"The barquero into whose charge he delivered 
the barqueta did call him el Sehor Hernandez, 
and thus it is I know it.” 

"Umph!” 

"And now that you know hfs name, will you 
seek him and thank him for his kindness? 
'Twill be but civil, methinks.” 

" ’Twill be but civil, think’st thou?” repeated 
the old man, sarcastically. Then, after a few 
minutes’ cogitation, "Perchance, ’twill be as well 
to do so, and if we can square accounts by the 
loan of a few ducats on my part, so much the 
better. When once he hath my money in his 
pouch I doubt me we shall never see nor hear 
of him again.” 

"Grandfather! grandfather!” exclaimed An- 
tonia, indignantly, "this cavalier hath asked 
naught of you. Think you money can settle 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 75 

all accounts, pay the noblest soul for the noblest 
deed, as the meanest hind for the meanest labor; 
cure all ills, cancel all obligations? Money hath 
its uses, but it cannot buy love nor can it take 
the place of gratitude/’ 

"Thou talkest like a simpleton,” said the old 
man. '‘Money is everything — a king — a god — a 
demon! A hell-born demon! with all the powers 
of hell at its back. Twill buy the peasant in his 
hovel, the prince in his palace; and the vilest 
rascal that e’er cut a throat will cheat the gallows 
have he but gold eno’ to throw i’ the balance. 

""Ay!” he continued, vehemently, rising from 
his chair and striking the floor with his cane, 
""Justice, ’tis said, is blind; but she is not deaf. 
She can hear the chink of gold — ha! ha! — she 
can hear the chink of gold and shutteth not her 
ears to its music.” 

With another mocking laugh he quitted the 
room, leaving Antonia to think over what he had 
said and wonder if it could be true. 

To the young, ardent soul, filled with a sense 
of the sweetness of life and the beauty of pure, 
unselfish love, the idea that money governs man 
in all his thoughts, all his actions, is abhorrent, 
and this maiden would not believe it was so im- 
portant and all-powerful a factor in the world’s 
affairs as her grandfather had said it was. The 
rare and costly luxuries which wealth had pur- 
chased for her pleasure were well enough — she 


76 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

liked to have them; but they were as naught 
compared with other things — not tangible things 
— in her estimation. 

The power of gold, as Beneberak had de- 
scribed it, was incomprehensible to her. That 
man would barter his honor — in which was in- 
cluded everything worthy in his nature — for it 
was a thought too degrading to humanity to be 
admitted into a mind undefiled by worldly ambi- 
tions. No, no, men were not all willing to sell 
their souls for gold; it was only her grandfather’s 
cynicism that had led him to make so broad an 
assertion. 

Later in the day Beneberak told his grand- 
daughter he had seen the Senor Hernandez. 

“It pleaseth me that you did trouble yourself 
to find him,” she said. “I would not have him 
think us lacking in good breeding.” 

“Nor shall he. He seemeth an honest youth 
eno’, and hath not that wisdom o’ the world I 
did accredit him with ere I had spoken with 
him.” 

“An honest youth eno’,” repeated Antonia. 
“And hath he naught beside his honesty to 
recommend him?” 

“Doth it not suffice? An’ he be honest — as 
he seemeth — I tell thee ’tis much.” 

“ ’Twere strange indeed an’ he were dis- 
honest.” 

“Tut, tut, what know'st thou of the matter? 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


IT 


Honesty or dishonesty showeth not on the sur- 
face. The fruit that looketh fairest to the eye is 
ofttimes bitter to the taste, and the heart of man 
is beyond thy reading. But, vaya! this youth is 
better than I looked to find, and, thinking a loan 
of an hundred ducats would scarce come amiss 
to him ’’ 

‘'Oh, grandfather! I trust you offered 
not 

“Nay, child, nay; I but thought on’t. The man 
is poor but proud, as I quickly perceived, and Fll 
warrant he’d have ta’en the proffer as an insult. 
Ho, ho 1 The pride of these Castilians — for he is 
of Castile, whence came thy mother — is some- 
thing to marvel at, especially an’ it be rooted in 
poverty, and the poorer the soil the better the 
tree flourisheth.” 

“Think you, grandfather, that pride is to be 
contemned?” 

“Nay,” replied the old man, hesitatingly, as 
one answers who finds himself caught in a word- 
trap, ''nay, I said not so; but, truly, pride and 
poverty be poor bed-fellows.” 

“I know not,” said Antonia, “but to me it 
seemeth otherwise. When one hath poverty, if 
he have not pride then is he in poor case in- 
deed.” 

“This Senor Hernandez,” said Beneberak — 
dropping the subject of his pride, having no 
argument to oppose to the girl’s logic — “though 


78 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


Still little more than a boy, tells me he hath been 
ten years a soldier. Tis a trade I like not — a 
brutal trade, and profitless to all save them in 
authority. But that importeth not; if men must 
e'en have their throats cut, there must be other 
men to do the business for them, and do it 
rightly. The butcher, whether of man or beast, 
must be bred to his calling; for shame it were 
that either the one or the other should make a 
botch of his work. This is the age when the 
strong arm of brute force ruleth the world, and 
he who would not be oppressed must be one 
of the oppressors; so he dons casque and cuirass, 
sword and dagger, and goeth forth to harry 
the land and slay them who would live — if live 
they might — by honest toil. 

‘‘But what boots it talking to thee, or any of 
thy sex? Tis a mere wasting of fair words. 
The hero of thy imagination is a soldier — always 
a soldier. Thou seest the pageant of the victor 
when he returneth from his campaigns — the tri- 
umphal arches, the banners, the glistening arms ; 
and thou hearest the plaudits that greet him; 
thou seest not the field of blood, where the dumb 
beast he bestrides trampled out the souls of 
men, thou seest not the thousands of pallid faces 
looking up with staring eyes to Heaven, and 
thou hearest not the groans of anguish that 
come from men with mangled limbs, the shat- 
tered images of God, that cry aloud to Him far 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 79 

vengeance — vengeance on the men who, for their 
own selfish ends, have made them food for the 
vulture and the wolf/’ 

Antonia made no response to this long tirade 
— she knew it would be useless — and presently 
the old man quitted the room, to the door of 
which, however, he returned, after a few minutes’ 
absence, to say, '‘I did forget to tell thee, girl; 
I bade this Senor Hernandez sup with us to- 
night. Thou mayst prepare for his coming, an’ 
his Castilian pride forbid him not to break bread 
with a son of Abraham.” 


8o 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE NEW WORLD. 

After a short respite the Indians once more 
made their appearance on the borders of the 
forest, but only in small skirmishing parties, who 
contented themselves with sending a few flights 
of arrows into the camp, which, doing no harm^ 
were unnoticed by the Spaniards, to whom the 
necessity of husbanding their ammunition was 
manifest. 

They had wisely come to the conclusion that 
their foe was not to be altogether contemned,, 
and employed themselves strengthening their 
fortifications and preparing for the worst, re- 
membering, now that the mischief was done, and 
they had aroused the enmity of the natives, that 
they could expect no succor from any quarter,, 
unless some ship sailing along the coast should 
put into the sound, which was a chance too un- 
likely to count upon at all. 

Nawatonah still remained a prisoner, obstinate, 
silent, and with the ferocious look of a wild beast 
— a beautiful panther newly caged. Had she 
been possessed of any weapon — any harmful im- 
plement whatever — it would have been dangerous 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


8l 


for the Italian to approach her. But the room 
in which she was confined was bare; there was 
not a thing in it except the pallet of moss which 
was spread in a corner for her to lie upon, and 
she could only show the rage that consumed her 
heart by the fierce light that flashed from her 
dark eyes whenever he came near her. 

•On two occasions, when he had opened the 
door, she had tried to effect her escape; but, 
though she was as agile as the panther to which 
she has already been likened, he had been too 
quick for her, and then, partly to punish her, 
partly to gratify the passion that raged within 
him, he had caught her in his arms, and covered 
her face with hot kisses, until it burned like fire 
with the boiling blood that rushed to it. 

Some of the men were in favor of releasing the 
girl, hoping thus to propitiate the savages and 
bring about a return to friendly relations with 
-them; but denial had only heightened Rossi’s 
passion, and, arguing that her desire for revenge, 
if she obtained her liberty, would incite her to 
do all she could to inflame the hostile feelings 
of the natives rather than anything to allay them, 
he persuaded his followers that their best policy 
was to keep her as a hostage, by means of which 
they might eventually negotiate a peace on their 
own terms. 

The gigantic pine already mentioned was near 
the river, and one of the sailors suggested that 


82 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


it might be made to serve the purpose of a look- 
out station. The idea was a good one, so the 
sailors were at once set to work to carry it out, 
and it was understood that the station was to be 
chiefly in their charge. 

Strong bars of oak, cut from the few stunted 
live-oaks that grew inside the earthworks, were 
made as smooth as it was possible to make them 
with such implements as they had, and then 
fastened securely, at regular intervals, one above 
another, to the trunk of the tree, until its spread- 
ing plume of dark, wiry foliage was reached, 
where a good resting-place was found among 
the great branches, in which a man might lie 
down and sleep in perfect safety — if he felt so 
inclined. 

The chief object in establishing the lookout 
had been to obtain an extended view of the 
river above and the marshes opposite — for be- 
tween the mouth of the river on which the Span- 
iards were encamped and the other mouth, which 
was farther to the east, lay a number of marshy 
islands covered with tall, rank grass. But it was 
discovered that, looking toward the south, one 
could see from this elevation over the low islands 
lying off the coast, the eye sweeping the sea 
beyond for miles on either hand, so that any 
vessel coming within a league of the islands 
would surely be seen by the man on duty — 
unless he forgot his duty and went to sleep. 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


83 


Not much satisfaction was felt in the knowl- 
€dge of this fact, however, as there appeared 
little, if any, probability of the beleaguered gar- 
rison being able to attract the attention of the 
crew of any such vessel, should she make her 
appearance. A great fire in the top of the tree 
might prove a signal that would induce passing 
voyagers to stop and investigate, however, and 
so it was determined to make preparations toward 
that end. 

First a platform was arranged for the greater 
comfort of the occupant of this mid-air post, and 
rude balustrades were stretched from branch to 
branch to insure his safety; and then a quantity 
of resinous pine wood, obtained by a sallying- 
party, was hoisted by means of a block and 
tackle rigged to one of the limbs of the tree, and 
piled, ready to be fired at any moment; after 
which, to complete all, a flagstaff was secured 
Jn such way as to reach above the top of the 
tree, from which the royal standard of Castile 
and Aragon floated out on the breeze, saluted 
by a round from the two falconets and the shouts 
of the soldiers. 

Thus prepared, the little band of men, brave 
though brutal, awaited the assault of their ene- 
mies, which they did not believe would be much 
longer delayed. 

An ominous stillness reigned in the forest, the 
savage skirmishers having ceased to make any 
demonstrations whatever. 


84 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

All through the hot days, which were length- 
ening now, not a sound was heard coming from 
the dense, dark mass of trees, and this solemn 
silence was only broken when night made the 
scene still more dismal, by the agonizing cry of 
the panther and the blood-curdling shriek of the 
great horned owl. 

What could be more depressing than this 
death-like stillness of the outer world, broken, 
only by the most direful sounds of animate 
nature? The spirits of the soldiers soon began 
to be affected by it. Forced to keep strict watch, 
and ward, as men besieged, while neither seeing 
nor hearing an enemy, a feeling of despondency 
oppressed them, and their thoughts naturally 
turned to what they considered their grievances.. 

^'Why,’’ they asked each other, '‘do we submit, 
to the control of this Italian — this foreigner? Is 
he, who to gratify a selfish passion hath made 
us enemies where we had friends, the one wha 
should command us? Is there not a Spaniard 
among us fit to be our leader, that we must 
continue to obey him like so many whipped 
dogs?” 

Thus they communed with each other, em- 
phasizing the fact that they of their number whO' 
considered the Italian rightfully entitled to the- 
supreme command were such as he especially 
favored, until their murmurs grew into ominous 
growls, which were but the indications of ap- 
proaching mutiny. 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 85 

Rossi was informed of all this by his lieutenant 
Gonzales. He was not lacking in courage, but, 
possessing that politic shrewdness for which his 
race has always been noted, he knew it would be 
the wiser course to meet such an emergency 
with diplomacy rather than with a bold assertion 
of authority; so he sought the very men who 
were loudest in their denunciations of him, and 
addressed them in a conciliatory speech. 

^Gomrades,'' he said, “I am told there are 
some among you who object to me as their 
commander because that I am an Italian. Is 
there so great a difference between the Italian 
and the Spanish races that we must needs base a 
quarrel on so small a matter? We are so much 
alike, both in aspect and speech, that the real 
foreigner, he of England and he of Germany, 
can scarce tell the one from the other. We have 
always been first cousins, as it were, and we 
fought side by side under the grat captain. 
Besides, can we forget that this very land, this 
new world where we now are, was discovered by 
an Italian?'' 

''Ay, marry! but he was a red-headed Italian," 
said one of the men, and this bit of shallow wit 
‘elicited a general laugh, in which Rossi joined. 
When you would disarm your enemy you must 
laugh with him, whether his wit be great or 
amall. 

"But all this importeth not," continued the 
ivily Carlo. "I sought you not as a boaster but 


86 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


as one willing to do what he may to restore har- 
mony — even if to do so it be necessary that he 
resign that little shadow of authority which 
seemeth to be a grievance to you. (There!’’ 
tearing off the insignia of office that he wore 
attached to his baldric, and casting it among 
them, ^'take it and bestow it upon him you think 
the most worthy of it! I will gladly obey him, 
whomsoever he may be. ’Tis but a trifling 
bauble, of no worth at all an’t be not worn with 
the good will of all.” 

•Waiting a few minutes and perceiving that the 
rosette and cross he had thrown away remained 
untouched, he exclaimed, ‘'Will none take up the 
gage? Of a surety we must have a head, and 
there should be one among you worthy to be our 
leader. Without a head we are useless as a body. 
Vaya! Whom shall we salute as our com- 
mander?” 

There was no response. These men were 
without exception ignorant, common fellows — 
the lowest type of men-at-arms, accustomed to 
follow and to obey, not to lead or be obeyed, and 
when the opportunity was offered for one of 
them to prove himself worthy of a higher destiny 
that one was not found among them who was 
ready to come forward and assume the respon- 
sibility. Even had there been a spirit among 
them bold enough to try it, his comrades would 
have been the first to turn upon him and wrest 
his newly-acquired authority from him. 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


87 


They were jealous of Rossi’s authority over 
them because he was not a Spaniard. They 
would have been far more jealous of one of their 
own number because he was a Spaniard of their 
own class lifted into a station above them. 

The situation was becoming ridiculous and 
the men perceived it. One of them — the most 
insignificant looking man in the crowd — stepped 
forward and picked up the badge of office. 

'^Ah/’ said the Italian, with well-feigned 
semblance of respect, ''at last. Salute, el seftor 
capitano,^^ and, unsheathing his sword, he went 
through the form of a military salute with the 
greatest gravity. 

The absurdity of the whole affair was now so 
apparent to the actors in it that they joined in a 
chorus of boisterous laughter. 

"Nay, senor,” said the man who had picked 
up the badge, which he restored as he spoke to 
its original possessor, "I desire not the trinket. 
I am but a common soldier, and know full well 
my deficiencies. I can fight when need be, but 
must fight under one who knoweth more of the 
science of war than I do.” 

Then Rossi, holding the badge out in his 
hand, looked round on the man’s laughing com- 
rades. 

"Will none of you undertake the charge?” 
he asked. 

No answer. 

"Shall we make Pablo Gonzales our captain?” 


88 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


^Tablo? Nay, nay!’’ they shouted with one 
voice. 

‘‘Fd as lief take service under the devil him- 
self,” said one. 

‘'Or his high priest,” added a second. 

“Pablo is his high priest, methinks,” said yet 
another, “and ’twere more commendable and 
more profitable to serve the master than the 
man.” 

This last speech was received with shouts of 
approval, and Gonzales, who was standing be- 
hind Rossi, leaning on an arquebuse, accepted 
the compliment with a grim smile and a shrug 
of his huge shoulders. 

“Senor,” he said, “I doubt not there be half a 
score of knaves, at the least reckoning, in camp 
who believe themselves equal to Gonsalvo or the 
Cid himself; all they lack is the opportunity to 
prove it. There,” pointing to a squatty, bow- 
legged fellow who stood grinning at him, “stands 
Anibal Oledor, who can make you as fine an olla 
podrida as the best cook In his majesty’s kitchen. 
Now, to my thinking, your good cook is as rare 
as your great captain, but Anibal is over-modest, 
senor, over-modest, like his boon companion 
there, Angelo Ynagra, a man who can curse 
louder than a Dutchman when the weather is 
fair and say the pater noster backwards faster 
than ever San Dominick did when the demons 
of hell are turned loose on the wind.” 

Thus, as often happens, a serious crisis was 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


safely past with the turning of a jest. The men 
who had been foremost in fomenting sedition 
now said they really had no particular objections 
to Senor Rossi as their commander, but were 
weary of their present monotonous and restricted 
life, and would have him do something to put an 
end to it. 

As long as there had been peace between them 
and the savages, they had been free to explore 
the surrounding country and hunt the game with 
which it abounded, but now they were denied 
these pleasures, and were cooped up within the 
narrow limits of their fortifications, while the 
ardor of the chase had not been supplemented 
by the excitement of battle. To men accustomed 
as they had been to active campaigning, this 
sort of life was intolerable; it weighed upon their 
spirits like an incubus. 

''What will you?’’ asked Rossi. "Will you go 
forth into the wilderness to seek the enemy? 
Wherever you will go there I am willing to lead, 
though it be to the death.” 

This was too serious a question to be settled 
at once, so it was left for further consideration, 
and in the meantime Rossi, now full master of 
the situation, rested content. So long as his 
authority was acknowledged by the men he 
cared not whether they remained where they 
were or took up their line of march in search of 
some avenue of escape from their perilous posi- 


90 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

tion. There is something fascinating in possess- 
ing supreme command over one’s fellows, no 
matter how limited their number, in being the 
head even of an insignificant body. 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


91 


CHAPTER X. 

The commandant’s endeavors to overcome 
the repugnance of the Indian maiden had been 
unavailing. All his advances had been received 
with silent contempt, and whenever he had 
attempted to press his suit with unusual warmth 
she had repulsed him with a look of loathing and 
scorn. It was evident that she hated him. Late 
in the afternoon, the day after he had come to 
an amicable understanding with his discontented 
soldiers, he entered her prison chamber, deter- 
mined to make one more effort, and if that failed 
to resort to a method much practiced in that 
age with obstinate people — the torture. 

The girl sat on the floor, looking wistfully 
through the barred window at the glowing sky. 
The sun was near his setting. Though she had 
never uttered a word of complaint, it was plain 
she pined for the wild freedom to which she had 
been accustomed, and although she appeared to 
bear the enforced restraint to which she was sub- 
jected with the stoical indifference that the In- 
dian is carefully schooled in, she could not en- 
tirely conceal the fact that she already suffered 
torture — that torture of the soul which is so 


92 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


much harder to endure when it has to be borne 
without any outward signs of distress. 

''Nawatonah said Rossi, and there was a 
plaintive intonation, in his musical voice, ‘‘why 
wilt thou force me to do that which it grieveth 
my heart to do? Why dost thou obstinately 
reject my love?’’ 

He spoke this last word with a little hesitation, 
as though he felt the mockery of it, and the 
woman looked at him with a scornful curl of her 
thin lips, and a fierce gleam in her black eyes 
which showed that she divined his thoughts, 
although she might not entirely understand his 
•Speech. 

“Thinkest thou,’’ he continued, “that thy 
people will come to deliver thee? They think 
not of thee. But,” he immediately added, “they 
are not thy people. Thou hast been a captive 
and a slave from thy childhood to them who 
wronged thy people, them to whom, rejecting 
love and liberty, thou would’st now return.” 

The Indian’s eye flashed, and, turning her gaze 
once more to the sky, she murmured in the 
curious Spanish idiom she had learned, more to 
herself than, to him, “They have been good to 
Nawatonah — she hath buried the past.” 

“Was it good,” said he, “to destroy Nawa- 
lonah’s kindred?” 

“The dead return not,” said the Indian, still 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 93 

as though she were communing with herself: 
''they went out to death.” 

"They were driven out to death,” said Rossi; 
"driven to their graves in the sea by these people 
to whom thy heart clingeth, but whom thou 
shouldst hate.” 

"I hate thee!” said Nawatonah, with a vicious 
snap of her teeth. 

The Italian, who came of a stock that never 
forgets an injury, but remembers even unto the 
third and fourth generation; that deems the life 
blood of one man small atonement for a slight 
wrong, could not understand this woman’s love 
for the people who had driven her own race ta 
desperation and death. He did not know that 
among the aborigines of North America the 
law of adoption was as binding as that of con- 
sanguinity — that a captive once adopted into a 
tribe became as much a member of that tribe as 
though born in its wigwams and reared among 
its youths and maidens, all thought of enmity 
or vengeance being thenceforward buried in 
oblivion. 

He looked at his victim with some show of 
compassion, but none of relenting. 

"Thou wilt force me to do that I would fain 
leave undone,” he said. "Thou wilt not suffer 
me to love thee. What, then, can I? Hate thee, 
as thou sayest thou hatest me? So be it. I will 
e’en return hate for hate, and thou shalt learn 


94 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


that the hate of the white man is something to 
dread.’’ 

As he turned to leave her, the girl leaped to 
her feet and bounded past him to the door. It 
was partially open, and she had nearly escaped 
through it, when he seized her long hair and 
dragged her back, shoving the door to with his 
foot as he did so. 

^'Ha!” he said; ^'again? And thou hadst 
nearly accomplished thy purpose this time.” 

Then he clasped her in his arms and hotly 
kissed her, while she strove to get free. 

Heretofore, when she had attempted to escape, 
and he had foiled her, he had been content to 
kiss her and let her go ; but now he held 
her, pressing her close and kissing her over and 
over again, though she gnashed her teeth and 
spat upon him, hissing like a snake, while she 
tore his hair and beard with her hands. 

Then began a terrible struggle — a struggle 
carried on in silence; such a struggle as some- 
times ends in murder. The man was no longer 
a reasoning creature — he was a brute, ready to 
sacrifice everything, even his life, to gratify his 
brutal passion, to prevent which the woman was 
as ready to sacrifice hers. 

He was strong, and it seemed as though an 
easy victory for him were a foregone conclusion. 
But the woman was wiry and agile, and the 
resolution to defend her chastity, not only re- 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 95 

newed what strength she had lost during her 
imprisonment, but added something to it. 

After a time Rossi's grasp relaxed. He was 
panting and foaming at the mouth. In an in- 
stant, with the undulating movement of a ser- 
pent, she glided from his arms, and ran to the 
other side of the room, where she stood at bay, 
watching her enemy with a look of resolute de- 
fiance, her naked bosom heaving, her mouth 
firmly set, her nostrils dilating and contracting 
with a short puffing sound as she breathed. 

Still panting, he stood looking at her a few 
minutes with burning eyes, and then returned to 
the assault, rushing upon his victim with the 
fury of a mad bull. She eluded his grasp at first, 
but, making a second dash at her, he caught 
her in his embrace again — this time so as to 
pinion her arms to her side. With a desperate 
effort she tried to free them, and, failing, quickly 
changed her mode of defense, seizing his cheek 
between her strong, white teeth. Lifting his 
right hand he struck her on the forehead, but the 
blow had little effect, owing to their being at 
such close quarters, and, finding her hands once 
more at liberty, the woman twisted them into 
his hair again and clung to him with tooth and 
nail, like a veritable wildcat. 

The man was decidedly at a disadvantage now, 
and he knew it. He tried to choke her off, but 
could not get a good grip of her throat, so he 


o6 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

caught her by her long black locks and pulled 
with all his might The hair came out in hand- 
fuls, but never for an instant did she loosen the 
firm grip of her jaws, and her teeth kept grinding 
into his flesh until they met and the piece was 
torn out. She spat it out of her mouth with 
an expression of disgust, and at the same time,, 
with a great effort, he managed to free himself 
of her, and then he cast her from him on to the 
floor, where she lay breathing heavily. 

'‘Devil!’' he said, regarding her with a look in 
which all the rage of his heart was concentrated. 
"Devil that thou art I’ll be avenged of thee. 
Thou shalt burn for it! burn, vile witch!” 

When he had left her the girl still lay where 
he had thrown her, her eyes, from which the 
fierce fire of savage ire had not yet faded, 
wandering, with a rapid scrutinizing glance 
around the room, examining it carefully from 
the comb of the roof to the floor. 

The walls were of hewn timbers, well fitted to- 
gether, so as to leave no cracks wide enough for 
one to insert his fingers into, and the roof was 
covered with short boards, roughly chopped out, 
not unlike the clapboards now in use for the 
same purpose; the rafters and sheething being 
of light pine poles with the bark peeled off. Half 
way between the comb of the roof and the top 
of the walls were several similar poles, running 
across from rafter to rafter — wind beams — placed 
there when the roof was in course of construe- 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 97 

tion to steady the framework. On these the 
Indian’s eyes eventually rested, seeming to 
measure the distance from them to the floor, and 
after awhile she got up and stood directly under 
one of them, looking upward, and stretching her 
arms above her head. She saw at once that it 
would be impossible for her to leap high enough 
to grasp it with her hands, even had she pos- 
sessed her usual strength and activity, which 
had been greatly impaired by confinement, and, 
crouching on the floor near the window, with a 
little sigh she looked out through the bars, which 
she had often tried to loosen with her hands, 
and appeared to consider the situation. While 
she was thinking, her fingers toyed mechanically 
with the only garment she wore, a short kilt, or 
skirt, made of the dressed hide of a deer. 

Suddenly she sprang to her feet, and stood for 
the space of a minute listening; then she stripped 
herself stark naked. With the garment grasped 
in one hand, and half concealing her round, 
graceful limbs, she listened intently again — an In- 
dian Artemis, fearing surprise — when, hearing no 
sound without, she seated herself upon the moss 
that was her bed, and, covering her lower limbs 
with a part of it, proceeded, with the aid of her 
teeth, to tear the pliant hide into strips, looking 
in the dusky light of the deepening twilight like 
some wild creature devouring its prey. These 
strips she plaited together, making a small but 


98 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

Strong rope, one end of which she tied into a 
large knot — an irregularly shaped ball. 

This done she got up and went to the door, 
where she remained a few minutes with her ear 
against it; then, apparently satisfied that Rossi 
would not intrude upon her privacy again soon, 
she went to the darkest side of the room, and, 
with the skill of a practised ball pitcher, tossed 
her rude ball over one of the wind beams, catch- 
ing it as it fell. She now untied the knot at the 
end, and, tying the two ends of her rope to- 
gether, slipped it along the smooth pole as far 
as it would go, where she left it dangling. Then 
she went back to her couch of moss, the greater 
portion of which she silently and deftly plaited 
into strands. These strands she quickly wove 
into a mat that she fastened around her waist, 
in lieu of the garment she had destroyed. 

When her preparations were completed, she 
sat still, eating a little of the food that had stood 
untasted all day, while watching the last glimmer 
of daylight die out of the sky. 

Total darkness at length enveloped her, and 
she laid down to rest and wait, the almost in- 
audible sound of her soft breathing alone break- 
ing the silence of the place. The Great Bear 
hung in the eastern sky. She could see it from 
where she lay, and, with the proverbial patience 
of her race, beheld it climb upward, changing 
her position occasionally in order to keep it in 
view. When it reached the meridian she arose 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


99 


and glided noiselessly across the room. Seizing 
the rope she had prepared, she climbed it with 
the agility of an acrobat, and, standing on the 
wind-beam, commenced removing some of the 
boards of the roof. 

It was easier work than she had anticipated, 
for they were only secured with binders — poles 
laid across each course on the outside, and 
secured at the ends — and were slipped aside 
without much difficulty. 

As soon as Nawatonah had made an opening 
large enough for her body to pass through, she 
thrust her head and shoulders out, and drew a 
long breath, and though it was the same air that 
she had breathed through the open window 
below, it seemed to her the sweetest breath she 
had ever drawn. It was the breath of freedom — 
for she did not doubt that her escape now was 
certain. 

It would seem strange that she had not 
thought of this mode of escape before; but until 
now she had not been so hard pressed. Up to 
this time Rossi had never attempted actual brute 
violence, and she had sat down to await patiently 
the coming of the warriors to her rescue — when 
she expected to be amply revenged. She had 
heard the din of battle and wondered why it had 
ceased, but never doubted it would be renewed; 
for she firmly believed the Indians, who so 
greatly outnumbered the white men, would be 
able to overpower and destroy them, and she ex- 


L.gfC. 


lOO 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


pected any night to be awakened from her slum- 
bers by the warwhoops and yells of the braves 
as they slaughtered and scalped her foes in their 
very camp. Such was the faith she had in their 
courage and cunning that she would still have 
waited had not her recent experience roused her 
from the sort of fatalistic lethargy into which she 
had sunk, and forced her to act for herself, feel- 
ing certain, as she did, that the Italian, whose 
evil passions were now thoroughly aroused, 
would take prompt measures to be avenged for 
the mortifying defeat he had suffered. 

Resting her hands on the edges of the hole 
she had made, Nawatonah lifted her body 
through it, and, squatting closely, looked around 
and listened. Nothing was to be seen save the 
smouldering campfires, and the collection of low 
huts, looking like a great black shadow with- 
out specific form, and no sound did she hear^ 
except the plashing of the waves on the beach; 
so, sliding softly down to the eaves of the roof, 
she dropped to the ground with as little noise 
as a bird makes when it alights. Lying still as 
she had fallen, she listened again^ — ^just for an 
instant — and then, starting up, she ran toward 
the river, swiftly and noiselessly, as the wild 
turkey runs when alarmed. 

She knew there were sentinels stationed along 
the river’s bank — she had seen them from the 
window of her prison — and when she had run a 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


lOI 


certain distance she stopped and laid flat down 
on the sand behind a little clump of palmettos. 

In a few minutes a sentinel came by, passing 
on without perceiving her. Quick as a flash 
she was up and in the water — under it — not a 
sign of her to be seen, not even a ripple to tell 
the course she had taken. 


102 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


CHAPTER XL 

THE OLD WORLD. 

‘There, senor caballero, there is the ship. She 
is small, as you perceive; but as staunch a caravel 
as hath e’er sailed out of the Guadalquiver. Her 
owners — whose agent I am — have chosen her for 
this particular service because of her speed.” 

‘Truly, Senor Murillo,” replied Julio Hernan- 
dez, “being little acquaint with such matters, it 
scarce becometh me to offer an opinion with 
respect to this particular ship or any other, but 
e’en to my uneducated eye she seemeth a good 
ship.” 

“Ay, senor, that is she; and she will be well 
appointed, likewise; so, should you be persuaded 
to accept the command in this adventure, you 
will have wise and well trained pilots and mar- 
iners of experience on whose skill you may rely.”' 

“I doubt it not,” said the Senor Hernandez, 
“and, having pondered the matter since you 
broached it, senor, I can perceive no reason why 
I may not undertake this charge.” 

“ ’Tis well,” said Beneberak: “your commis- 
sion shall be applied for to the Commissioner for 
the Indies, and in the meantime you can make 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 103 

such disposition of your private affairs as you 
may deem needful before taking so long a 
journey.’’ 

The caravel was lying at one of the quays, 
and the two men went aboard of her. 

''Although I am no mariner,” said the cavalier, 
looking around, "I am not altogether ignorant 
of the uses of the various appliances I see here, 
having been one of the company on a similar 
vessel in the fleet of Don John when he over- 
came the Moslem in the Bay of Lepanto.” 

"And yet you say you have had no experience, 
senor caballero?” 

"Methinks such part as a man may take in 
one sea-fight like that can scarce be accounted 
nautical experience. But an’ you be willing, 
Senor Murillo, to trust me with the command 
of this same caravel, I will e’en undertake the 
adventure.” 

"Basta, senor caballero; I doubt not you will 
conduct the affair to the satisfaction of those 
who employ you.” 

"I shall hold me bound to use my best en- 
deavors to that end.” 

"I doubt it not, I doubt it not. And now, 
senor, this matter being settled between us, we 
will return, an’ it please you, to my poor dom- 
icile, where we will draw up such papers as the 
law requireth to make all such compacts 
binding.” 


104 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

A little later Beneberak and his guest sat at a 
table in a room in the old Jew^s house very busy 
with pen, ink and parchment. I say they were 
very busy, but the truth is Beneberak was busy, 
while the cavalier sat watching Antonia, who 
was tending her flowers in the patio. 

It was towards the middle of the afternoon and 
the sun shone aslant across the little enclosure, 
filling one side of it with a warm glow of light, 
while the other rested under a cool shadow 
where everything was softened but nothing 
hidden. 

To Antonia her flowers were sweet com- 
panions, and on them she bestowed much of her 
time. Each sung its little song or told its simple 
story to her — some of her native land, of courtly 
knights and ladies fair in festive halls, others of 
far-off climes, of gorgeous plumaged birds and 
strange, wild-eyed creatures in woodland soli- 
tudes, and she delighted to be among them, to 
listen to their voices, coming to her laden with 
sweet odors. 

With a small vase of the ancient Etruscan 
pattern, which she filled from a fountain always 
playing in the center of the patio, she refreshed 
the plants by pouring tiny streams of water on 
their stems, whence it trickled down to the 
thirsty roots, and Julio Hernandez, marking her 
graceful movements, the perfect pose of her ele- 
gant figure, as she performed her labor of love, 
for the first time felt a strange thrill at his heart — 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. I05 

Strange to him, whose thoughts had heretofore 
been occupied by naught save ambitious dreams 
— dreams in which love had no part. 

When the old man had finished writing he read 
what he had written to the young one, who 
appeared to listen, but really heard not a word, 
and when asked to put his signature to the parch- 
ment did so mechanically, scarcely knowing what 
he did. 

‘‘Now, senor,^' said Beneberak, rising, “an’ you 
will come with me to the Commissioner; we will 
make application for your commission as cap- 
itan commandante of the caravel Esperanza.” 

El Sefior Hernandez gave a little start, as if 
suddenly recalled to recollection of the business 
in hand, and with his eyes still turned in the di- 
rection of the patio, said, “Cannot this be done 
without my presence, senor Murillo?” 

“Ay,” replied the other, to whom the preoccu- 
pation of his companion and its cause were very 
apparent, “ay, it may be.” 

“Then will I await you here, an’ it please you. 
The sefiorita Antonia will doubtless not deny me 
her company.” 

“As you will,” said Beneberak, and a satisfied 
smile curled his lips, as he went out, leaving the 
young cavalier to discover the drift of the maid- 
en’s inclinations for himself. 

“ ’Tis an honest youth,” he said, “and poor; 
and the old Jew’s granddaughter, with the dower 
she will have, will be no bad match for him. Ah, 


loO A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

well/’ he added, as he pursued his way in the 
street, ‘let them woo, let them woo, and when 
he hath returned from this venture, he shall have 
her, be he still of the same mind.” 

It would appear that the old man’s opinion 
with regard to the character of the Spanish cav- 
aliers of the day had undergone a change since 
he had held discourse with his granddaughter on 
that, to him, irritating subject, but such was not 
the case. He simply thought he had discov- 
ered an exception to the general rule in Don 
Julio Hernandez. 

That young soldier of fortune — for such he 
really was — as soon as he found himself left at 
liberty to do so, joined Antonia in the patio. 

“Good morrow, sehorita,” he said, doffing his 
broad-brimmed, plumed hat; “I trust I may not 
be deemed an intruder in this temple of Flora.” 

“Your sehoria is welcome,” replied Antonia, 
blushing, though she tried hard to appear com- 
posed. 

“The flowers seem to flourish under your 
care,” he said, not knowing what else to say, 
“and I trust they are grateful to the fair priestess 
who presideth over their destinies.” 

He was little accustomed to this style of con- 
versation, and it came awkwardly to him, but 
the maiden, laughing, replied, “If to deck them- 
selves in beauty and offer up sweet incense be 
evidence of gratitude, of a surety they be grate- 
ful, senor. See this jasmine, which belongeth 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 1 07 

properly to Africa: ’tis covered with great white 
blossoms, whose odor filleth the place with 
sweetness/’ 

’Tis a wondrous plant, sehorita,” said the 
cavalier, putting his nose to one of the blooms 
and inhaling its perfume. ''And came it from 
Africa, say you? Then will I bring you one to 
match it from the Indies.” 

"The Indies, sehor,” repeated the girl, the 
light of happiness which had come into her dark, 
lustrous eyes fading away, and the warm color 
deserting her cheeks. 

"Ay, sefiorita; for thither am I shortly to sail 
on that most excellent ship La Esperanza.'* 

La Esperanzay she knew, was to depart from 
Seville for Hispaniola and other parts of the 
newly-discovered western world, in about a 
month’s time, and her heart sank when she 
thought that in so short a while he would be 
gone, perchance never to return; for not all of 
them who went forth from the old world re- 
joicing and full of brilliant hopes came back to 
tell the tale of their adventures or misadventures,, 
and too often rumor of hardship, misery and 
death was all that reached the ears of the loved 
ones left behind. 

It was some time before Antonia spoke again, 
and she studiously kept her face turned away 
from the eyes of the cavalier, as she slowly 
poured a thread-like stream of water from her 
vase over the jasmine, but at last, with a little 


Io8 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

tremor in the voice, which seemed to have lost 
some of its rich, musical resonance, she said, 
"‘You told me that you would doubtless abide 
in Seville, senor.’’ 

“Ay, senorita/^ was the reply, “and I did so 
propose; but el senor Murillo, your grandfather, 
hath made me offer of the chief command on 
this caravel, the which is, truly, a stroke of for- 
tune such as I ne’er had hoped for.’' 

“And — and you have closed with his offer?” 

“Even now have the articles of our compact 
been signed and sealed. But, senorita,'' when, 
he perceived that Antonia, with pale face and 
eyes downcast remained silent, “this business 
seemeth not to please you.” 

She had set her vase down on a low, marble 
shelf on which were some jars containing plants, 
and her hands rested on the lip of it. She lifted 
her eyes to his, but timidly. 

“Why should it not please me, senorH she 
asked. 

“Truly, I know not,” said the cavalier, “but 
you seem not to rejoice in this good fortune 
that hath come to me.” 

“And call you that good fortune which 
tempteth you to seek unknown dangers?” 

The soldier smiled. 

“Know you not, senorita/* he said, “that the 
true knight maketh no account of danger? It 
rather giveth zest to the enterprise.” 

“Ay, senor, so it is writ in the books I have 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 109. 

read, but — ^but — and her eyes dropped again 
before the earnest gaze he had fixed upon her.. 

'Tell me, senorita/' he said, taking one of her 
hands in his, "tell me, Antonia,'' and now his 
own voice shook a little nervously, "would it 
grieve you an' I should ne'er return?" 

"Grieve me?" she repeated, still looking down, 
"Of a surety, senor. Do I not owe you much? 
And should I forget it, think you?" 

"Thou owest me naught," he said, changing 
his mode of speech to one that seemed in an 
instant to bring them nearer together. " 'Tis 
not on the footing of creditor and debtor that I 
would stand with thee." 

She did not speak, but stood still, listening 
for his next words with sweet, trembling an- 
ticipation. 

"Antonia — amor mia," he said, putting his 
arm around her and drawing her close to him. 
Then he kissed her sweet lips, upturned to him 
as she lay in his arms panting, and they stood 
among the flowers, silent; he wondering how 
such happiness had come to him so suddenly^, 
she scarcely conscious of aught save his pres- 
ence. Since the day she first saw him he had 
been her hero, her demi-god, as beautiful as 
Absalom, as grand as Absalom's father, but 
never in her wildest dreams had their two lives 
touched as now in reality, and her soul was 
whelmed in a flood of joy unspeakable. ^ 


1 10 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


CHAPTER XIL 

The departure of La Esperanza was now a 
question of only a few days, and Don Julio Her- 
nandez was aboard superintending the mounting 
of her armament, a matter of great importance at 
that time, when every ship sailing the seas was 
considered lawful prey by any rover that could 
catch and capture her. Having completed his 
arrangements entirely to his satisfaction, he 
returned to the shore, and, hurrying across the 
quay, looking over his shoulder at the caravel, 
of which he was very proud, came in collision 
with a short, thick-set man-at-arms. 

“Hola, Senor!’’ exclaimed the soldier, facing 
about and laying his two hands on the other’s 
shoulders. Then he broke into a pleasant laugh. 

''For el capitanazo Gonsalvo/' he exclaimed, 
''what rare good fortune hath led me across your 
path this day, Sehor Hernandez?” 

"Rare good fortune, truly, Rodrigo,” replied 
Don Julio; "for of all the men I know in this 
wide world, thou art the one it delighteth me 
most to see. I stand in need of an honest 
friend, to whom I may entrust a mission of much 
delicacy, and thou art the very one to serve me.” 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 1 1 1 

take it to my credit that you should deem 
me worthy of your trust, senoria” replied Rod- 
rigo, ''and, can I serve you, will be only too glad 
to do so/^ 

"Thanks, my good friend. Let’s to yon wine 
shop, and while we discuss a flagon, we will 
likewise, discuss this business." 

''Bueno, senor. Twas for that same bodega I 
was making when you charged me and brought 
me to a stand; for I must confess me a thirsty 
mortal at all times, saints’ days and Sundays 
included.’’ 

Seated in the wine shop, nothing was said 
until a deep draught of strong Catalan wine had 
allayed Rodrigo’s thirst; then, setting down his 
flagon and eyeing it with a regretful air, he said, 
"Now, senor, if you will be pleased to unfold this 
same delicate matter of which you spoke, being 
in a measure,’’ eyeing the flagon again, "pre- 
pared and fortified, I will do whatsoe’er I may 
to advise — nay, it becometh not such as I am to 
make offer of advice to your senoria — but can 
I do aught, whether it be of fighting or other- 
wise, methinks you have already had proof of my 
willingness to serve you.’’ 

The senor Hernandez made no immediate re- 
sponse to this speech, but seemed lost in thought, 
and Rodrigo, thinking he had not heard him, or 
hearing, had not understood, spoke again. 

"You know, senor/' he said, "how much I 


1 12 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


owe you — of a verity, something more than life 
itself — and ’’ 

*^Basta, amigo/^ interrupted the cavalier; ^^that 
debt was canceled long ago.’’ 

'"Nath’eless, sefior, I hold me bound to you 
in any case, be it for life or for death.” 

‘*As thou wilt, Rodrigo. But at the present 
’tis but a matter of guardianship with which I 
would invest thee during mine own absence 
from Seville.” 

^'Guardianship, your senoriaf' repeated Rod- 
rigo, inquiringly. 

"Aye. Being about to depart on a journey 
of some length and duration, I would fain have 
a trusty friend here in Seville to keep a watchful 
eye on a certain senorita” — Rodrigo lifted his 
heavy eyebrows in a significant way, but said 
nothing — "and see that no harm befall her, as 
had well nigh chanced a short while agone.” 

"And this senorita, sehor ; I presume she is to 
be kept in ignorance of the matter; in other 
words, I am to play the spy. ’Tis an office I 
like not, but ” 

"Nay, nay,” hastily interposed the cavalier, 
"thou mistakest my import. The senorita is 
to know that she hath a friend close at hand on 
whom she can depend in case of need; she is my 
betrothed, Rodrigo.” 

The soldier smiled, and when he did so the 
wrinkles ran up to his eyes like ripples of mer- 
riment. 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 1 13 

‘'So that hath befallen your sehoria which, 
sooner or later, befalleth the most of men,’' he 
said. “You have been tripped up by a far- 
thingale. But that’s only as it should be; a 
noble cavalier of your presence should ne’er go 
through the world like a shaven monk.” 

“Then thou art no advocate of celibacy, Rod- 
rigo?” 

“Nay, senor — wherefore should I be? For 
what was woman created, if not to be the mate 
of man?” 

“And yet thou hast ne’er found a mate for 
thyself, amigo.^^ 

“Ah, there you bring the matter home to me, 
senoria. But, marry! the fault lyeth not with 
me. Three times have I been i’ the trap, and 
there would have stayed most willingly, had not 
the hussies, after emptying my pouch of every 
stiver that was in it, bade me begone and return 
no more.” 

“Truly, fortune hath not favored thee in affairs 
of love, Rodrigo,” said the cavalier, laughing. 

“Nor war,” said Rodrigo. “It hath ever been 
my luck, when I have hewn a way through the 
ranks of the foe, to have some spriggald step 
up afore me and enter the breach, thereby win- 
ning the guerdon to which I was justly entitled. 
And you know but for the timely aid of your 
sehoria I should e’en now be the slave of the 
Algerine, a malediction on his turbaned head!” 

''Ccrtes, fortune hath used thee ill,” said Don 

8 


114 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

Julio, “but despair not, amigo; thou may’st win 
her smiles yet, and then will she repay thee with 
double measure for all that thou hast lost.^’ 

“An’ she do, I will be naught less than a cap- 
tain-general, sehor. But now, as concerneth this 
same doncella, the fortunate betrothed of your 
sehoria! How chanceth it that she should need 
the guardianship of a rude soldier like me? Hath 
she no kinsman in Seville, or is it from them she 
hath aught to fear?” 

“She hath no kindred in the city,” replied the 
cavalier, “save her old grandfather, and he, being 
a Jew, can scarce afford her such protection as 
she may stand in need of.” 

“A Jew, sehor?” said Rodrigo, suddenly be- 
coming serious. 

The cavalier noticed the change in his com- 
panion’s countenance, and knew full well the 
cause of it. 

“I should not have said a Jew, Rodrigo,” he 
responded, “for Jew he cannot be and live in 
Spain, as you know; but he cometh of the stock 
of Abraham, though he was baptized into Holy 
Church when he was a child.” 

“Ay,” said Rodrigo; “but let me tell your 
sehorita, an’ you know it not already, one of that 
stock is ever a Jew; baptize him, an’ you will, 
with water as hot as hell itself, and still will you 
have a Jew — naught but a Jew.” 

“Methinks thou art over-rigorous in thy judg- 
ment, Rodrigo,” said Don Julio. 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. II5 

''Nay, senor, craving your pardon. I have 
had to do with your Jew and I know him well; of 
a truth I like him not, be he Christian Jew or 
Hebrew Jew/' 

"Then will I be obligated to seek further for 
the friend I need to serve me." 

"Nay! nay!" exclaimed the soldier, " 'twas not 
my purpose you should take me in that way, 
senor. I consider not the Jew a jot in this affair. 
I but gave you my opinion of his kind — and I 
would serve you were the devil himself at t'other 
€nd." 

"Then there is nothing more to be done save 
to make thee known to the sehorita, and I will 
explain that 'tis to thee she must look in case 
of any foul machinations 'gainst her honor." 

"But what hath she to fear, senor, and from 
whom?" 

"That I did purpose telling thee another time, 
but, an' thou be not already aweary of my 
affairs, I will e'en do so now." 

"Aweary, senor; and wherefore should I be 
aweary? Did we not come to this same bodega 
to discuss your affairs? And here have we not 
been discussing mine own as much as your 
senoria's? There's but one thing we've not dis- 
cussed, methinks, and that's this same good wine; 
for, por Baco! one draught may scarce be called a 
discussion." 

The cavalier called the wine-boy, and when 
the flagons were refilled, he told the man-at- 


1 16 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

arms of his rencounter with the ruffians in the 
wood. 

''And you heard not the name of the count 
for whom this villainy was undertaken, sehor?” 

"Nay, the knaves called him not by name. 
Had they done so, of a verity I had sought him 
out and brought him to an accounting. I might 
have forced a confession from the villain I had 
at my mercy, but I thought not on it at the 
time.” 

" Tis well as it is,” said Rodrigo, "for be he 
a noble of high degree, as most like he is, he 
would have flouted your challenge; and, had you 
forced the fight upon him, his retainers would 
have slain you. But these knaves whom you 
encountered, senor — perchance you noted some- 
what about one or both, some distinguishing 
mark by which I might recognize them.” 

"Ay, truly,” replied the cavalier, "one of them 
would be a notable figure anywhere. He is of 
tall, lank stature, and is as swarthy as a Moor. 
His face, never a handsome one, I trow, is orna- 
mented with a cicatrice that reacheth from the 
right eye to the corner of his mouth, giving this 
last feature the look of being excessively large 
and twisted around in most ludicrous fashion.” 

"I have known just such a man as him you 
describe, senor; but then, there be enough tall, 
lank fellows going; and as for cicatrices, there 
is a plentiful harvest of them in these times, as 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 1 17 

your senoria knoweth full well. Heard you not 
the name of this same rascal?'’ 

‘‘Ay. His companion did call him Jacqueton 
— Captain Jacqueton." 

“Jacqueton!" repeated Rodrigo, bringing his 
hand down with a thump on the table. “ 'Tis the 
very man, sehor, though he was no captain when 
I knew him. He was always more of a braggart 
than fighter, and he got his cicatrice at the hands 
of a harlot, who slashed him with a barber’s 
razor." 

“And what wilt thou do, now that thou know- 
•est the man, Rodrigo?" 

“I’ll search him out, sehor, be he still about 
Seville, and learn who ’tis employeth him and 
his comrade; then, methinks, when I know the 
master as well as the man, ’twill be my own fault 
an’ I cannot outwit them." 

The cavalier made no rejoinder, but remained 
for some moments lost in thought, while the 
man-at-arms drained his flagon, by short stages, 
to the very lees; then, “Why not take service 
with this nobleman when thou hast discovered 
him, Rodrigo?" he said. 

“Of a verity, ’tis well considered, your sen- 
oria," was the reply, “and a marvel ’tis I had not 
the wit to have thought on’t; but ’twould seem 
the man whose work is always of the hand hath 
ever a dull head. I’ll do it, senor; trust me, I’ll 
do it, though the wage be naught other than 
food and drink." 


1 18 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

thank thee, amigo said the cavalier, risings 
''and now let us seek the sehorita Antonia; the 
caravel on which I am to sail is almost ready to 
leave her moorings, and ’twill be as well to have 
these little matters settled at once.” 

"Caravel!” repeated Rodrigo, stopping short - 
as they were about to pass out of the wine-shop. 
"Did your senoria say caravel ?” 

"Ay,” replied Don Julio. "Seest thou not yon 
little ship with the gay flags already flyings 
bravely at her peaks?” pointing to La Esperanza, 

" Tis of her I speak.” 

"Ah, a fine little ship is she, truly, sefior,” said 
the soldier, following with his eyes the direction 
indicated by the other’s finger; "much like the 
one on which we had well-nigh met with misad- 
venture at Lepanto. But what of her?” 

"I am her capitan commandante, amigo, and 
soon will she be speeding over the stormy seas to 
that new western world where wealth and fame 
await him who hath the hardihood to come and 
pluck them.” 

The listener stood for a little while like one 
dumfounded, and then he broke forth in a voice 
full of lamentation. 

"0 bitenos DiosT he exclaimed, "said I not 
that fortune hath ever been against me? Now 
what better proof of it want I than this? Here 
have I made oath — or as good as done so — to 
stay in Seville as guardian of a doncella — bound 
me nurse, as it were, to a Jew's granddaughter — 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 1 1 9 

when there was a fine little ship waiting, right 
under my fool’s nose, to take me to the Indies 
an’ I only had had the wit to know it.” 

There was so much of a certain kind of humor 
in all this that the cavalier could scarce keep from 
laughing. But he knew Rodrigo was in serious 
earnest, and said sympathetically: 'Tt seemeth 
hard indeed, amigo, and gladly would I have thee 
with me, were’t not that thou canst serve me bet- 
ter here.” 

‘‘Ay, senor,** replied the other, dolefully, 'T 
doubt it not, and I blame not your senoria. ’Tis 
fate — naught but my curst fate. O, my good 
mother, why wert thou such a niggard? Why 
was I not born twins ? Then might I have served 
my lord in the Indies and my lady in Seville at 
one and the same time. But heed not my rav- 
ings, senor/* apologetically. *”Tis but the reac- 
tion, as I may say, that, like the wind from a can- 
non ball flying close to one’s head, hath scattered 
what little wits I had and made me a fit subject 
for bedlam.” 

The senor Hernandez said nothing, and as they 
pursued their way, the soldier’s rage at what he 
termed his ''curst fate” somewhat cooled. 

"After all,” he said, assuming a jocular tone, 
"what thought had I of going to the Indies an 
hour ago, or even of seeing your senoria f I 
came to Seville to pass away some idle days and 
enjoy myself, and no sooner have I entered well 
into the town than I am promoted to the guard- 


120 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


ianship of a beautiful doncella. What greater 
honor can I ask? Nay, I will shut my eyes to 
all else, and make the most of that which hath 
fallen to my lot. AdiosT and kissing his hand 
he waved it to and fro theatrically as though he 
bade farewell to the universe. 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


121 


CHAPTER XIII. 

In the pateo, over against the wall of one wing 
of Beneberak’s house, where a stately palm 
spread its waving fronds, a pavilion of cotton 
cloth, woven in stripes of brilliant colors after the 
Moorish fashion, was stretched. In the shadow 
of its folds stood a table of rare wood and curi- 
ous workmanship, on which were set baskets of 
embossed silver, heaped with luscious figs, 
purple grapes, golden oranges and ruby-grained 
pomegranates, delicate porcelain dishes filled with 
cakes and confections, and crystal flasks of am- 
ber-colored wine, accompanied by wine-glasses 
so finely cut that they would have been almost 
invisible but for the sharp lights reflected on their 
circular rims and fragile thread-like stems. 

This was a love-feast prepared by Antonia for 
her lover, who was to depart with the eventide. 
Standing a little way off the maiden viewed her 
arrangements with critical eye and smiling lip, 
then turning toward a row of offices used by the 
servants of the household she called, 

Judit!’^ 

Almost immediately a little Moorish maid 
came forth and hastened toward her. 

^‘Now, child,’' said the mistress, pointing to the 


122 


A STEI*-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL.. 


pavilion, 'Vhat thinkest thou of it? Is't worthy of 
my lord?’' 

‘'O, senora donaT exclaimed the girl, her eyes 
shining with delight,” 'tis beautiful — 'tis perfect — 
and worthy of any he, though he be the greatest 
in all Spain.” 

‘‘And so he is, boboncella, saving alone the 
king,” said the maiden, proudly. ‘‘But 'tis not 
perfect — nay. Bring hither yon Syrian rose: its 
dark green leaves and pyramid of blush-pink 
blooms will fitly crown the feast — perfect the 
symmetry o’ it, as thou shalt presently see.” 

The Syrian rose, dwarfed by being potted but 
thrifty and well set with blooms, was brought 
and placed in the midst of the rich array of fruits 
and gleaming silver and flashing glass — truly 
crowning the feast — “perfecting the symmetry o' 
it,” as Antonia had said — and then mistress and 
maid stood back and looked at the ensemble, 

“Prithee, lass, what thinkest thou now?” asked 
the one. 

The other clapped her small, brown hands, but 
spoke only with her bright, black eyes. 

“’Tis well. Now begone, and when thou hear- 
est the silver bell then come again and not be- 
fore.” 

The girl gave her mistress a knowing look and 
ran away. There were two chairs, similar in ma- 
terial and workmanship to the table, within the 
pavilion, and on one of these Antonia seated her- 
self to await the arrival of her guest. Still as the 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. I 23 

sunshine that lay on the tesselated pavement of 
the court, with hands loosely clasped in her lap, 
and eyes downcast, she sat listening for the 
sound of his footsteps ; and when the firm, mar- 
tial tread struck the tympanum of her ear her 
heart leaped in response to it, her color deepened 
and spread upward to the forehead — a glow of 
rosy light that slowly faded out again, leaving 
two burning spots on her cheeks. 

She lifted her eyes as she rose to receive him, 
and drew a deep breath when he clasped her in 
his arms. 

**Aniadora/* he said, ‘‘have I tarried long?” 

“Long, senor,” she murmured. “It ever seem- 
eth long to me when thou art away.” 

“Ah, pity, then, it is that we should part at all.” 

“Why should we part?” she asked. “Why 
shouldst thou tempt the raging sea — the savage 
men and creatures of an unknown land ?” 

“What wouldst thou, love? Wouldst have me 
prove recreant to my plighted word ?” 

She made no reply, but withdrew herself from 
his arms and resumed her seat, when placing the 
other chair near to hers he sat down and took 
one of her hands in his. 

*^Amor mia/^ he said, “knowest thou what it is 
to a poor soldier of fortune to have a ship like 
La Esperanza given him to go whither he will in 
search of that fame so dear to his heart?” 

“I can understand,” she said, with a sigh. 


124 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

^‘Alas! fame is the successful rival of love; in pur- 
suit of it man forgetteth the breaking heart he 
hath left behind; each day bringeth some new 
excitement to distract him — the howling wind, 
the dashing waves, the crashing thunder, all 
combine to turn his thoughts away from her who 
loveth him above all other things on earth.” 

“Nay, nay, Antonia,” he said, taking her in his 
arms again and drawing her to him. 

“Ah, my lord,” she continued, laying her head 
on his shoulder and looking up in his face with 
eyes full of a beseeching melancholy, “I have 
loved thee since first these eyes were blest with 
the sight of thee. ’Tis long, sehor. Remember- 
est thou how long?” 

“Ay,” replied Don Julio, gazing down at her 
with a look of wonder, “but then thou wert a 
child, amadaJ* 

“A child with the heart of a woman,” said An- 
tonia. “I did appear a child to thee, I doubt not, 
and thou didst forget me ere the tears I shed to 
see thee fading from my sight were dry; but I 
forgot not thee. Oh! my lord! my love!” she 
cried passionately, throwing her arms up around 
his neck, “leave me not here to die, for I shall 
surely die when thou art gone.” 

“What wouldst thou, Antonia?” he asked, 
with a troubled look. “Wouldst have me 
break my compact with the sehor Murillo? He 
hath put great trust in me, and now should I be- 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. I 2 5 

tray that trust — now, when all is ready for the 
venture — what would he think and I deserve?'’ 

''Ah no, my lord," said the girl, withdrawing 
her eyes from his and half hiding her face in the 
folds of his jerkin, "thou hast mistook the im- 
port of my words. I would not have thee break 
thy compact, and shouldst thou do it thou 
wouldst not be the hero of my dreams. 'Twas 
but a foolish, selfish whim that did prompt the 
thought." 

"What wouldst thou, then?" 

"Let me go with thee. Oh, my lord, deny me 
not. ril ne'er complain of hardships, ne'er be 
afeared of Ocean in his angriest mood, and when 
the battle rages I will follow thee e’en to the jaws 
of grimmest death." 

"Wouldst thou all this for love?" he asked^ 
turning her face up so as to look into her eyes. 

"Ay," she replied, "and more. I'd be thy will- 
ing slave though thou shouldst spurn me, and 
follow thee like a cringing dog thou didst de- 
spise, only to kiss thy feet when thou didst sleep ; 
and shouldst thou fall I'd yield mine own spirit 
up, the last sigh on my lips a prayer for thee,, 
though my soul should perish for lack of peni- 
tent v/ord." 

This utter abnegation was something entirely 
new in the senor Hernandez’ experience, and he 
was scarcely prepared to understand it. The 
throne of his heart was divided between love and 
ambition. Fame was the rival of love, as An- 


126 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


tonia had said, and time and circumstances could 
only prove which would occupy the first place; 
but here was one to whom love was all — heaven 
and earth — and hell. 

‘‘Antonia,'' he said, “'tis a marvel to me, this 
love of thine." 

“Wherefore, my lord." 

“It seemeth not reasonable that any man 
should deserve so rich a gift." 

“Deserve! What hath deserving to do with 
love? I deserve not to be loved by thee — yet am 
I loved by thee — am I not, my lord ?" 

“Ay, thou knowest full well I love thee, with- 
out need that I should tell thee so." 

“I know it, yes, and yet 'tis sweet to hear thee 
say it. But come, thou canst not put me off with 
words. I asked a boon — that boon is love — 
nay, life itself — and thou hast neither answered 
yea nor nay, which signifieth to me live or die." 

“Nay, say not so, amada," said the cavalier. 

“'Tis true, my lord." 

“Thou thinkest so now, I doubt not; but love 
like thine will make thee live for him thou lovest, 
though he be far away." 

“Far away?" she repeated, plaintively. “Ah 
no, not far away, for I will be with thee." 

“Nay, love, it may not be; it were not fitting 
one like thee should consort with rude men-at- 
arms, many of them ruffians, whose sole thought 
is of rapine, and slaughter, whose ordinary 
speech would scare thy gentle soul." 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 127 

‘'Oh, my lord, and are thy comrades such?'' 

“For the most part, ay, though there be some 
of better sort. It is my part to curb these turbu- 
lent spirits — to control and guide them, as the 
wise head controleth and guideth the body, that 
otherwise would go astray and waste its energies 
in futile endeavor." 

Antonia said no more, but lay in her lover's 
arms, softly sobbing. The soul that battle nor 
tempest could affright shrunk trembling from 
contact with rough, licentious men. After a little 
she lifted her head, and rising to her feet picked 
up the crystal flask. “My lord," she said, pour- 
ing wine into two of the wine-glasses, “the feast 
I have prepared for thee is yet untouched. Wilt 
drink to La Esperanza?*' 

“Ay, sweetheart, and to thee, likewise," replied 
the cavalier; but before he could lift the glass to 
his lips Beneberak entered the pateo and came 
toward them. He set it down without touching 
it to his lips, and, rising, turned to the master of 
the house. 

“I crave your pardon senor caballero/* said 
Beneberak ; “I have here your letter of instruc- 
tions, and 'twould be as well that we look over it 
together in case there should be aught requiring 
explanation." 

The two men seated themselves, the elder 
opening the paper that he held in his hand, and 


128 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


Antonia, whose eyes were still full of tears, which 
she chose to hide from her grandfather, retreated 
to the house, leaving them alone. 

The pavilion had been so set against the wall 
that just one lower corner of a window over- 
grown with vines came within it, and when the 
attention of the old man and his guest was fully 
absorbed in the contents of the paper they were 
perusing, a hand was thrust through the inter- 
lacing vines without disturbing a leaf and ex- 
tended over the table. It was a thin, colorless 
hand, and held between the index finger and the 
thumb a tiny vial, from the lips of which fell 
drops — one, two, three — of a clear liquid into the 
wine-glass at Don Julio Hernandez’ elbow. Then 
this ghostly hand was withdrawn as noiselessly 
as it had appeared. 

Antonia returned just as her grandfather, who 
had not remarked her absence, was about to 
withdraw. 

*'Stay, senoVy' said Don Julio. ''When you 
came in we were about to drink to La Esperanza 
— a prosperous voyage and quick return; now 
doubtless you will join us in this libation.” 

"Assuredly, scnor cabalhro, an’ it be your 
pleasure,” replied Beneberak, and the sehor Her- 
nandez, taking the glass already filled with 
wine — ^the one into which the drops had fallen 
from the vial — placed it in front of him and pro- 
ceeded to fill another for himself. 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. I 29 

The flask was in his hand when a fragment of 
stone — it might have been a bit of the facing or 
sill of the window — fell, striking the glass intend- 
ed for the old man, breaking it and spilling the 
contents. 

^^Ah exclaimed Antonia, turning pale, ‘"’tis an 
evil omen.” 

“Tut tut,” said Beneberak, eyeing the place 
whence the missile had come suspiciously; “an 
accident the like of which doth happen every 
day. A bit of loosened stone hath upset a glass 
of wine. Tis naught to fright thee, wench.” 

Nevertheless, he hastily quitted the pavilion 
and entering the house made his way quickly to 
an unused chamber in the rear of it. 

His sharp eyes made a searching survey of the 
place, but saw nothing save a few decrepit pieces 
of furniture, which had been stored there as 
being no longer fit for use, and he was going out 
again, when his glance fell on a bit of vellum 
lying curled up on the floor. This he picked up 
and going nearer the window — but without mak- 
ing the least noise — spread' it out in his hand. 
There were some Italian words written on it in 
a very fine hand — one that he knew well. 

The words were ^^Acqua della morte: tempo: sei 
mese *^ — and Beneberak would have understood 
them even had he been unacquainted with the 
Italian language — “Water of death: time: six 
months” — a subtle poison, with the length of 

9 


130 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


time one might expect to live after swallowing a 
few drops of it indicated in the last two words. 

'Tool!’' he muttered — that was all — and, 
thrusting the bit of vellum in his bosom, he left 
the room. 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


13I 


CHAPTER XIV. 

« 

THE NEW WORLD. 

Filled with rage at his utter defeat by the un- 
fortunate girl who had so resolutely defended her 
honor, Rossi retreated to his own chamber, ad- 
joining the one occupied by his prisoner, and 
dressed the wound so ignominiously received as 
best he could. Then he went out to cool his hot 
blood in the evening air that came in soft breaths 
from the sea. The men were gathered around 
the camp-fires preparing their suppers of coarse 
food, but he felt no desire to eat and, instead of 
going among them, wandered off to the river. A 
sentinel challenged him and, after giving the 
password, he stood and talked to the man. 

‘^Hast ever been stationed on the lookout, 
Felipe?” he asked, pointing to the great pine 
•tree, which stood a little further up the stream. 

‘‘Ay, senor” replied Felipe, “and I care not to 
be there again.” 

“Wherefore, prithee?” 

“Well, you see, senor, ’tis a windy sort of place 
at all times, and the night I was there ^twas blow- 
ing harder than usual. Methought I should 


3 3^ A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

take a flight, and caramba! I am not an angel 
with wings yet, nor am I a kite.'’ 

“I know not," said Rossi, measuring the tree, 
which stood like a great black shadow against 
the evening sky, with his eye. “I know not how 
it may be, never having tried it, but it seemeth to 
me I should like to be perched away up there, 
seeing all and yet unseen, like those creatures 
who are said to hover about us and observe all 
we do." 

‘‘What creatures, senorf asked the soldier in 
a troubled voice; for the least hint of the super- 
natural would transform the bravest soldier of 
that time into a coward. 

There are such creatures", replied Rossi. ^We 
see them not, but they see us and note all we do ; 
and 'tis said they favor some and assist them in 
their labors." 

‘'Ah, yes, los duendes/* said Felipe, in a tone of 
relief, “but they harm not them who anger them 
not." 

“Who is stationed in the tree at the present?" 
asked Rossi. 

“Sancho Pinto, a mariner, senor, and it seem- 
eth a fitting post for him and his mates : they be 
more at home up in the sky, as it were, than we 
poor landsmen, who like a bit of solid ground 
under our feet." 

“Tis true enough, what thou sayest, Felipe, 
yet, for once, methinks Pd like to see how the 
earth doth look from up there." 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. I33 

^'Bleak enough at night/^ said the soldier, 
laughing, “and far enough away. Na’th’less, ’tis 
but a score or so of steps straight upward, an' 
you be inclined to take them, senor; though, in 
that case Iwere as well to leave your sword with 
me or it may chance to get between your legs, 
and, like an unruly steed, fetch you down with 
more speed than will be to your liking or com- 
fort." 

jThe Italian unbuckled his sword belt, and 
handing the weapon to Felipe, bade him take 
care of it until his return. He then went to the 
foot of the tree and began to ascend it. At first 
it was easy enough, and he went upward with 
confidence; but the further he got from the 
ground the more he felt that he was out of his 
element, and the greater care he bestowed on his 
handhold and footing. When he had accom- 
plished a little more than half his journey he 
stopped and ventured to look down. He ap- 
peared to be hanging over a black abyss. It 
made his head whirl, and a sense of helplessness 
took possession of him. He clung with greater 
tenacity to the frail supports on which his 
safety depended, and had it not been that the 
sentinel below knew of his purpose he would 
have descended without having accomplished it. 
But Rossi was no coward — simply experiencing 
sensations such as any brave man might experi- 
ence if placed in a novel situation to which was 
attached a certain amount of peril — and in a little 


134 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

while he became calm, conquering his nervous 
trepidations by force of will, and climbed up until 
he reached the gre^t branches of the tree. Then 
he stopped, for these seemed to present an insur- 
mountable barrier to his further progress. 

''Who cometh there?’’ cried the man above. 

"£/ commandante/* was the reply. "How got 
you into that devil’s nest, amigo?'' 

"There,” said Pinto, reaching down, "take my 
hand, senor, and I’ll help you. But ’tis no devil’s 
nest, I warrant you,” when the Italian stood be- 
side him, "and methinks the devil would scarce 
soar so high : his game is down there, not up here 
so close to heaven and all the saints.” 

Rossi stood, holding fast to one of the 
branches of the tree looking down at the earth 
beneath him. It was a clear starlight night and 
the river, with the marshy islands lying in the 
midst, looked like a great embossed shield of 
burnished steel. For the rest, all was black, as 
Felipe had said it would be, with the smoulder- 
. ing camp-fires glowing here and there. The men 
had finished their evening meal and gone to their 
quarters, whence the murmur of their voices 
could be heard rising, like the drone of belated 
bees. 

"I have been thinking, Pinto,” he said, after a 
while, "that the getting up here, difficult as it 
was to me, who am unaccustomed to climbings 
was much easier than the getting down will be.” 

"Let not that disturb your senoria/' replied the. 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 135 

sailor. ^'Whenever you get aweary of my com- 
pany, and desire to go below, I can assist you 
with the rope that we used to hoist the fagots.'’ 

‘‘Ah, 'tis well; then will I stay with thee 
awhile, for 'tis a pleasant place, notwithstanding 
Felipe did somewhat disparage it." 

“And what said Felipe, sehorf^ 

“Only that 'twas no fitting roost for a lands- 
man. He feared the wind would blow him away 
the night he was here." 

Sancho laughed. 

“Ay," he said, “I remember me 'twas a boister- 
ous night, and glad enough he was when the re- 
lief came, which was no other than myself. He 
was assigned to the post in the room of my com- 
rade, Mateo Crispo, who was affected with some 
malady of the head, and of a consequence did not 
dare venture so far from the earth, where a man 
must have all his parts under proper discipline, 
and more especially his head, that, being any way 
disordered, doth swim ‘i' the air,' and bring the 
poor body, which can only swim i’ the water, to 
the ground with a thump that knocketh the life 
out o' it." 

“Truly methinks the head needs must be a 
clear one that passeth much time in this eyrie," 
said Rossi. “But tell me, Sancho, how dost 
amuse thyself during the long hours of thy 
watch? For that thou art true to thy charge and 
sleepest not on thy post, I doubt not." 

“I ne’er so much as permit me to wink, senor; 


136 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

for full well I know should the savages get into 
the camp my case would be anything but a pleas- 
ant one, let what might chance to the rest. As 
for amusement, a man may be merry with- 
out other aid than his own fancy. Now some- 
times I sing, but more frequently I hold discourse 
with myself.'’ 

‘‘Discourse with thyself?" 

“Ay, senoria, and a very tolerable boon com- 
panion do I find me. Though there may be times 
when discussion leadeth to argument, and argu- 
ment to hot words, we never come to blows. No, 
no, senor, we be good friends, myself and me, 
take us day in and day out, and ne’er let a little 
difference of opinion make bad blood between 
us.’’ 

“Certes, a fortunate circumstance,’’ said Rossi, 
falling in with his companion’s humor, “since, 
perforce, you must be so much together. Boon 
companions are not always wont to keep on such 
good terms : a trifling matter will oft send them 
at each other’s throats.’’ 

“Methinks there is little chance of my proper 
self and my other self coming to that, senor'^ 
replied Sancho, laughing, “unless we be seized 
with the curse of madness.’’ 

Just then there was a flapping of wings and a 
rustling in the pinetop above, as if some huge 
bird were settling itself to rest. 

“What’s that?" asked the Italian, *^Sapristi! it 
surely cannot be the wind rising." 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. I37 

*'Nay, ’tis not the wind/' replied the sailor; 
^‘’tis a friend of mine, senor, who cometh oft to 
visit me. He hath a fine voice, and presently 
shall you hear him sing." 

;The man had scarcely ceased speaking when 
there was a snapping sound, like the gnashing of 
teeth, and then a wild, prolonged shriek, followed 
by the usual cry of the great horned owl — ‘‘Ou! 
ou! ouah! ouah! ouah!" 

‘'Santa Maria!" cried Rossi, ‘"tis the ill- 
omened bird. Scare it away! Sancho, scare it 
away! an' thou wouldst not ill luck should befall 
thee!" 

''Cuerpo de San AntoniaT exclaimed Pinto, 
^‘doth the beast bring one ill luck ?" 

“Of a verity it doth." 

“Then will I kill it," grasping his arquebuse 
and blowing the fusee, which shone like a single 
red eye in the darkness. 

“Nay, slay it not," interposed the Italian, lay- 
ing his hand on the weapon; “the creature is a 
demon, and though thou shouldst slay it and flay 
it, it would avail thee not." 

“What can we do, then, senor?^^ 

“Frighten it away." 

But the owl flew away of its own accord, and 
Pinto, remembering what he had said about the 
bird, smote his breast and cried out: peccado! 

what have I done? The saints be good to me. 
Fool that I am, I have called the devil my friend.^' 
Then he went on to bewail his folly, but the only 


13 ^ 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


consolation he got from Rossi was a long disser- 
tation on demonology — weird tales of black devils 
and blue, who, entering the bodies of the dumb 
animals familiar to man, made life a prolonged 
misery to such poor wretches as offended them, 
or a succession of delights to such as made 
friends of them, only to carry them off in a 
mighty whirlwind, or great smoke, in the end. 
^The Italian continued talking in this vein until 
he had exhausted his repertoire of fiends of 
divers hues and accomplishments, and then fell 
asleep on a pile of moss his companion had 
spread for his comfort, leaving that simple mar- 
iner to think over the strange tales he had heard 
— tales that fascinated while they terrified him. 

He had been asleep about two hours when 
Pinto roused him, and as soon as he had recov- 
ered from the mental confusion consequent upon 
awaking in so strange a situation, directed his at- 
tention to a small black object floating in the 
midst of the steely sheen of the river. 

/'And didst thou disturb me for that?’' he 
asked, fretfully, as one will speak when roused 
from sleep for some trivial cause. "Tis but a log 
floating in the water.” 

"Nay, senor, craving your pardon; ’tis no log — 
’tis some living creature.” 

"How canst thou know that?” 

"I know the tide is on the ebb at this hour, and 
it floateth not with the tide: ’tis moving toward 
the marshes yonder.” 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 1 39 

'Then ’tis a crocodile.'’ 

"I will shoot it, an' you say so, senor/' said 
Pinto, taking his gun in hand again. 

"Nay, thou art too ready with thine arque- 
buse," replied Rossi. "The crocodile was wor- 
shiped by the Egyptians as a god, but, like all 
the gods of the heathen, 'tis, in very truth, a 
devil." 

"Marry!" said Sancho, "the creature hath 
more the semblance of the devil than of God, I 
trow, or even one of his saints." 

While they were yet discussing the character 
of the thing they were watching it disappeared^ 
and at the same time there arose from the sea the 
same melodious sounds they had heard once be- 
fore. As before, the sad refrain increased in 
volume as it rose, passed around the camp, and 
gradually died away. 

Santo CristoT cried Rossi, rising to his feet, 
"the very air of these regions is peopled with de- 
mons." 

"Ay, sehor," responded Pinto, "in good sooth, 
it doth so appear, and pity 'tis the holy father 
Bartolome was washed off the galleon. With a 
prayer or two he had made these knaves sing an- 
other tune, I trow; but I doubt me an' there be a 
man among us all now who hath enough of the 
stuff in him that goeth to the making of a monk, 
not to say a priest, to do aught with them." 

The commandante said no more on the subject 
but after a few minutes spent in meditation, told 


40 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


the sailor he would descend and return to his 
quarters. 

^'What!’’ said the man, ‘‘and leave me here, 
senor, to fall a prey to the foul fiend?’’ 

“Hast thou ever suffered aught of harm from 
him ?” asked Rossi. 

“No, senor, not as yet,” was the reply, “but 
there’s no telling when he may take it into his 
horny pate to pitch me out of this infernal roost.” 

“Make thee a cross of two of these fagots, and 
with that thou canst defy Satan and all his host.” 

“I doubt it not, senor; but then your senoria 
must know that one loveth good Christian com- 
pany when the devil is riding by his door, and 
may chance to step in and inquire after his 
health.” 

“It grieveth me to leave thee, good Sancho,” 
said the Italian, “but I have duties below, as thou 
must know, and may not neglect them. But 
come, I will stay with thee until thou hast made 
thee a cross, and with that for thy weapon of de- 
fence thou needst fear naught.” 

With a sailor’s deftness whenever the handling 
of ropes and tying of knots is concerned, Sancho 
soon made a rude cross, and that done, assisted 
Rossi to descend from his aerial station with an 
alacrity that seemed unaccountable, after his re- 
cent protest, until, having waited a sufficient 
length of time to permit his commanding officer 
to get well away, he quietly slipped down to the 
foot of the tree himself. 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 141 

''Here will I abide until my comrade cometh 
to relieve me/’ he said, sitting down on the 
ground. "I, for one, have no fancy to encounter 
the devil where he will have me at disadvantage,, 
and the cross, methinks, though a good weapon 
in the hands of a priest, who hath been indoc- 
trinated in the use of it, would be of little avail 
to a poor mariner like me, who knoweth naught 
save of tarred ropes and such gear/’ 


142 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


CHAPTER XV. 

Having reclaimed his sword, Rossi returned to 
his quarters and laid down to rest, but not to 
sleep. To the man whose spirit is as perturbed 
as was his sleep cometh not; and, besides this, 
the wound inflicted by the Indian woman had 
become inflamed, and was very painful. So he 
passed the remaining hours of darkness tossing 
restlessly on his couch of moss and cursing the 
red witch who had bitten him. He had given up 
all idea of conquering the repugnance of Nawa- 
tonah, and while cursing her, conceived a dia- 
bolical project by means of which he might be 
sufficiently avenged for the torture and humilia- 
tion from which he was suffering. 

Now that what he had called his love was 
changed into hate, her death alone would content 
him, death accompanied by its greatest agony — 
death at the stake. 

He had but to charge her with being a witch 
and the thing was done, for in those days to be 
accused of witchcraft was to be condemned with 
or without proof. With his thoughts intent on 
this purpose, he arose at early dawn, and went 
forth to seek his chief counselor, Gonzales. 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 1 43 

The maiden day was dressed in gorgeous 
robes, and her sweet breath, laden with the per- 
fume of the pine, seasoned with the salty savor 
of the sea, was like a draught of life’s elixir, and 
he stopped to inhale it with delight, for even the 
man that hath murder in his heart can enjoy the 
blessings which the Creator provides for his 
creatures. Verily He ‘'maketh the rain to fall on 
the just and the unjust, and the sun to shine on 
the evil as well as the good.” 

^'Your senoria hath met with an accident,” said 
Gonzales, when the Captain and his lieutenant 
had passed the customary salutations of the 
morning. 

‘‘Ay,” replied Rossi, wincing when he spoke, 
'‘I had the misfortune in the darkness of the 
night to strike my face against the door of my 
quarters.” 

A curious smile just lifted the heavy drooping 
moustache of the Spaniard, but the Italian, with- 
out appearing to notice it, continued: 

“I knew not,” he said, “that a mere abrasion of 
the skin, could produce so painful a wound.” 

“You should have come to me, sehor, and I 
would have dressed it for you,” said Gonzales. 
“Like most old soldiers, I am somewhat of a 
chirurgeon, and can even lop off a limb on occa- 
sion. A sharp blade to do the job, and a bit of 
hot iron to stop the flow of blood — that’s about 
all the mystery there is in it.” 

“Ah, well, ’tis naught — a trifle,” replied Rossi, 


144 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

anxious to turn the conversation into some other 
channel, ‘'scarce worth so much consideration.’' 

“Ay, a mere scratch, doubtless,” responded the 
other, “that will heal of itself in a sennight, or 
even less time. Had it been a bite now — the bite 
of some beast — it had been more difficult. There 
is ever more or less poison in a bite — ay, e’en in 
the bite of man or woman — and your wench is 
the very devil for biting, when you light the fires 
of her temper.” 

Rossi looked at his companion a moment as if 
he were trying to read his inmost thoughts. Did 
the man know how he got his hurt, or were his 
words just chance words that happened to fit the 
occasion? However it might be, the soldier’s 
rugged countenance gave no sign that he could 
interpret one way or the other. 

“Pablo,” he said, after his fruitless scrutiny, 
“there is a little matter concerning the prisoner 
we have in durance yonder,” pointing in the di- 
rection of his own quarters. 

“We, senorT' interrupted the lieutenant. “Nay, 
not we, craving your pardon. I at least have 
naught to do with her. I am too old to waste 
my wits on women whom I have ever found 
value themselves a good pieza more than their 
desert. ‘Ah, senor, when we grow old, and they 
grow old likewise, then do we arrive at their true 
worth. Your crone who weareth a cherry coun- 
tenance hath a good heart, but too oft the honey- 
words and sweet smiles of youth and beauty are 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 14S 

but masks to hide the mischief that in old age 
stingeth with the tongue, like an adder.’’ 

*'|Thou seemst to be somewhat of a philoso- 
pher, Pablo.” 

‘The man that hath lived in this world beyond 
sixty years must needs be a philosopher or a 
fool.” 

‘Thinkest thou so?” 

“Of a verity, senor. Look you now, when a 
man hath lived to that age he hath had full forty 
years or more of wholesome experience, and if 
he know not the world and its ways then, why 
he must be a fool ; if he know the world and its 
ways, then must he be a philosopher, for there be 
no deeper philosophy, I trow, than a knowledge 
of mankind — unless it be a knowledge of 
womankind. — But to return to your senoria*s 
affairs, what of this woman — this Indian 
wench ?” 

Rossi was silent a few minutes, and then he 
said: 

“Yesternight ’twas nigh about the hour of 
twelve, methinks — didst hear a strange sound 
i’ the air? ’Twas like a mournful chorus sung by 
many voices, and once before hath it visited our 
camp.” 

“I heard it, senor, but gave little heed to it. 
’Twas only a sound, when all’s said and done — a 
grewsome one, ’tis true ; but there’s naught in a 
sound that a man should dread it, an’ it be not 
the sound of a shrew’s voice.” 


146 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

‘They say ’tis the death song of this maiden's 
people, who, doubtless possessed, like the swine 
of old, went down into the sea. She alone was 
left, and now, by practices of witchcraft, she 
bringeth them back to torment the living." 

“Whom do they torment, sehor? Not me, I 
trow. Tve seen and heard too much in my time 
to be troubled by such shallow mysteries." 

“But if the woman be a witch, Pablo ?" 

“What then — the stake? The bird is yours, 
senor^ and it importeth not to me what disposi- 
tion you make of it. You may cage it or cook 
it — it is all one to Pablo Gonzales, who hath 
helped sack too many towns to care for the 
squeals of a wench more than for those of a stuck 
pig. But let us go and see this witch," and the 
two went toward Rossi’s quarters. 

When they drew near, Gonzales stopped and 
uttered an exclamation. “Look!" he said, point- 
ing to the little house. “Methinks your bird hath 
flown to the woods, senoVy or your witch to the 
moon." 

The Italian rushed to the door of Nawaton- 
ah’s prison and threw it open. ''Maladetta 
Strega r* he cried, perceiving what had happened, 
“she is gone! Figlia del Inferno! she hath 
escaped! It was she whom we saw in the 
water." 

“Whom you saw in the water? What mean 
you, senorf* 

Rossi related his experience in the lookout, 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 1 47 

expressing regret that he had forbidden Pinto to 
^hoot at the fugitive. 

''Umph/’ grunted Gonzales, ‘'it would not so 
much matter, seeing ^twas only a woman running 
away from us, did it not show a lax state of dis- 
cipline. If one woman can slip out so easily, why 
may not one man — or ten — get in. It must be 
looked into, senor; these fellows must be told to 
keep their eyes open, and not permit aught float- 
ing in the river to escape them. There is danger 
from that direction, and unless we take good 
heed we shall all be awaked some night with our 
huts in a blaze over our heads.’’ 

“Thou art i’ the right, Pablo, thou art i’ the 
right,” said Rossi, “and the sootier thou dost 
caution the men the better; for, now that the girl 
hath got away, I doubt not we shall hear from her 
friends ere long. An angry woman letteth not 
the fire of wrath die out until her vengenance is 
appeased.” 

Rossi was not mistaken. The following night, 
near the third hour, the man on the lookout saw 
several dark objects in the river. He watched 
them a few minutes, and perceived that although 
they were apparently floating with the tide they 
gradually approached the shore. Every now and 
then those furthest out would disappear, sinking 
beneath the water, to reappear on the surface in 
advance of all the others somewhat after the man- 
ner in which a flock of birds go hopping over 


14^ A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

each other as they feed on the ground, only in 
an inverse order. 

There was no need to speculate as to the char- 
acter of these floating objects or the purpose of 
their strange maneuvers, and the man, raising his 
arquebuse to his shoulder, fired at the nearest. 
Every head — they were human heads — sunk be- 
neath the surface of the stream at the sound of 
the explosion, and the next instant the mellow 
notes of the bugle sounded the call to arms. The 
last strain had barely died away when the camp 
was filled with the subdued noise made by men 
when they turn out in the night to repel the at- 
tack of a foe. 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


149 


CHAPTER XVL 

THE OLD WORLD. 

Antonia sat dreamily looking into the patio. 
The flowers, drenched with recent rains, were 
just beginning to hold up their drooping heads, 
to court the warm kiss of the sun that, breaking- 
through the clouds which for several days had 
obscured the sky, poured floods of glory over the 
beautiful, old Moorish city, making minaret and 
tower, cupola and arch, glisten as though they 
were inlaid with burnished gold. 

Her eyes were fixed on the flowers, but she 
saw them not; she saw the dark ocean, with its 
huge billows rising and falling, bearing away a 
little bark that seemed like a toy that they 
played with ; she saw dense forests of great trees, 
beneath whose sombre shadows fierce wild-men 
awaited, with eager, blood-thirsting eyes, the 
landing of the crew of the little bark ; she saw a 
deadly conflict raging — white men and dark men 
mingling in a confused mass, with shouts and 
cries and the clashing of weapons — one form, the 
only one in all that struggling, writhing host 
which had interest for her, ever in the hottest of 
the fight. 


150 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

She arose, with a sigh that was almost a sob,, 
passed a hand across her eyes with a gesture of 
impatience, as if she would sweep away some- 
thing that troubled her soul, and turned to leave 
the room. As she did so she stopped short and 
drew herself up to her full height. 

It was evident that she made a strong effort to 
subdue the emotions that had filled her eyes with 
tears and brought the sobbing sigh to her lips. 

Standing just within the room, in an attitude 
intended to express a certain amount of humility, 
was a young man, who, somewhat taller than the 
average of men, had a remarkably handsome face 
of Jewish cast. ‘‘I crave your pardon, senorita*^ 
he said, his fine, black eyes regarding her with a 
look of bold admiration by no means consistent 
with the humble position he had assumed ; tis 
scarcely my place to advise — perchance you may 
deem me guilty of unwarrantable presumption — 
but ’’ Here he hesitated, and she waited with- 

out saying a word, fixing upon him a steady, in- 
quiring gaze, which seemed to embarrass him. 

‘'I crave your pardon,’’ he repeated, ‘'for — for 
intruding ” He stopped again. 

"Go on!” she said. "You have something to 
say to me. What is it? Speak! Hath aught 
gone wrong that you dare not tell my grand- 
father?” 

She sat down again, but did not ask him to sit. 

he said, "you know full well the 
great interest — the — the ” 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. I 5 r 

''Stop!'’ she cried, sharply. "I told you long 
ago that any interest or other feeling you might 
have for me was without warrant, and concerned 
me not.” 

"Ay,” he said, in a tone in which there was a 
strange mingling of sorrow and sarcasm, "I am 
only a poor Jew; I had not the good fortune to 
be born a Spanish cavalier.” 

"That you are a Jew,” she said, "giveth no of- 
fence to me, as you know. My grandfather is a 
Jew, and I am half a Jew myself, therefore it 
would ill become me to scorn the race. Of a 
verity, the Jew hath much reason to be proud 
of the stock from which he is sprung.” 

"And yet the senorita would give herself, body 
and soul, to the Spaniard.” 

"What question is there of Spaniard or Jew 
between you and me?” she asked, with an angry 
flush. 

"Nay,” he replied, waxing bolder, "truly there 
is no question of Spaniard or Jew, but of honest 
love that I, the Jew, offer you, and a vile dishon- 
est passion with which the Spaniard insults you.” 

For a moment she was so astounded by the 
man's audacity that she sat perfectly still and said 
not a word, then she slowly rose to her feet, the 
fire of wrath blazing up in her eyes with almost 
savage fierceness. 

"How dare you!” she cried. "You, a menial 
in this house — how dare you intrude upon my 
privacy to insult me thus?” 


152 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


''Man dareth much — dareth everything for 
love/^ he answered. Then, suddenly returning 
to his former attitude of humility and clasping 
his hand's together, "O senorita/* he cried, 
"spurn me, if you will, but first hear me!'^ 

"Nay, nay,^’ she said, hastily, "speak not an- 
other word! You can but add insult to insult, 
and I will not hear you. Begone! Leave me!’" 

But he did not stir. He stood looking at her, 
unable to conceal his admiration, though he 
knew he but added fuel to the fire he had kindled. 
She was wonderfully beautiful in her wrath. 

"You scorn me and my love,’" he said, ‘^and 
give all to the Spaniard, who despiseth the race 
to which we belong.” 

She opened her lips as if to protest, but said 
nothing, and he went on. 

"Ah, senoritay think you that one of his race 
can love one who hath a drop of Hebrew blood 
in her veins? An’ you do you are greatly de- 
ceived. The proud Spaniard loveth not the out- 
cast, and the children of Israel are outcasts — you 
among them, though, as you have said, you are 
but half a Jew.” 

"What availeth all this ?” she asked, "and what 
know you of my concerns, which should be 
naught to you who taketh it upon yourself to 
give me counsel?” 

"I know much,” he replied, "and have taken 
upon me to give you counsel because the old 
man, your grandfather, seemeth to be blind. I 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. I 53 

Icnow that you have been in the arms of a liber- 
tine — that your lips have been polluted by the 
kisses of a light o’ love.” 

The color flushed hot into her cheeks, and she 
seemed about to interrupt him, but restrained 
herself. 

'The senor Hernandez,” he continued, "is be- 
trothed to a lady of high degree in this same city 
of Seville. You were to him but a plaything of 
the hour.” 

For a moment she stood like one turned to 
stone, the color left her cheeks, and was suc- 
ceeded by a death-like paleness. Though she did 
not believe what he said, the very idea his words 
conveyed, was a shock to her innocence. Then 
her eyes flashed, a bright red spot gathering on 
each cheek. 

"Ah!” she said, with a gasp, "what a poor, piti- 
ful thing is a liar. Begone! and offend not my 
sight again by your presence,” and she pointed 
to the door through which he had entered the 
room. 

With a low bow and a cynical smile he left 
her. 

"Ah, my beautiful Judith,” he muttered to him- 
self, as he went back to the office where his duty, 
as Beneberak’s clerk, lay, "the Christ in whom 
thou dost put thy trust once told a tale of a 
sower, whose seed fell in many places; and some 
came up and flourished, and others, having come 
up, wilted for lack of soil, and died, and some 


1 54 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

came not up at all. The seed I have sown this 
day will be of those that came up and flourished. 
’Tis but a little thing — a mere speck, which thou, 
in the pride of thy beauty, dost treat with scorn, 
but ’twill sprout and grow, and bear the fruit of 
jealousy; and the taste of it shall be as bitter as 
aloes, and it shall poison thy life, and then? — and 
then? — ah, we shall see.” 

Left alone, Antonia resumed her seat, and, wo- 
man-like, gave vent to her feelings in tears. 

A few days later the young clerk was standing 
in the gateway of the patio, which opened into a 
narrow, little-used street, when he saw a woman 
dressed in fantastical rags coming toward him. 

^^Ha!” he said, ‘'the gitana, I will speak to her. 
Good morrow, mother!” when the woman came 
nearer. 

“Good yester e’en, young sir,” replied the 
gypsy, sarcastically, “but methinks thou hast 
mistook our kinship; I never yet gave birth to a 
Jew.” 

“How knowest thou that I am a Jew?” 

“Marry, one hath but to look i’ the face o’^ 
thee to know that. But e’en though thou didst 
not bear the mark of Abram so plainly on thy 
countenance still would I know thee for a Jew^ 
for thou art of the household of old Beneberak. 
Some call him Murillo and believe him to be a 
Christian, but thou’dst make a singing bird of a 
magpie by calling it a nightingale as soon as 
turn a Jew into a Christian by calling him out of 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 1 55 

his own name. He hath a daughter — a hand- 
some wench, as thou art a handsome knave — 
why dost thou not wed her, and ask me to dance 
at the wedding feast? I can dance, old though 
I be.’^ 

'' Tis of her that I would speak with thee.” 

''Ay ? And wherefore dost not speak with her- 
self? Hast the faint heart in despite o' thy fine 
looks?” 

"Nay, ’tis not that, but she’ll not list to me.” 

"Then how can I help thee?” 

"Hast thou not some philter that, being given 
to one, will turn the heart to the one who giveth 
it?” 

"Ay, I have such philter, but I fear me I’ll not 
dance at thy wedding if ’tis to that thou dost 
trust. ’Tis a charm for kings and princes, man 
— the same that Sheba put i’ the sop of Solomon, 
the king, and that the Egyptian flavored Mark 
Antony’s wine withal. ’Tis a drug of great 
price.” 

"What dost thou call a great price? A gold 
ducat, perchance.” 

"And dost thou value the wench at one gold 
ducat?” cried the gitana, with a laugh of derision. 

"’Twould pleasure her to know it, I trow. Ha! 
ha! the Jew liketh not to part with his money — 
nay, not e’en for love o’ the flesh.’* 

The young man’s face turned red, and there 
was an angry light in his eyes. 


1 5^ A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

''Speak lower, woman,’' he said. "Wouldst 
have the whole city hear thee?” 

"The city hath its own concerns to mind, and 
troubleth not itself with thee or me,” she replied. 

"Yet there is no reason why thou shouldst cry 
out the matter as if 'twere some jest.” 

"And is’t not a jest?” 

"Nay, truly ; 'tis matter of serious import.” 

"Marry, come then, let’s to business. What 
wouldst thou?” 

"I would know, in all earnestness, the price of 
this same drug that thou sayest is so potent.” 

"In all earnestness, then, young sir, for five 
ducats will I furnish thee with enough of this same 
drug as will suffice to serve thee once, an’ thou 
fail’st to profit by it the loss be thine.” 

"Sapriste!” exclaimed the youth,” ’tis as pre- 
cious as the elixir of life.” 

" ’Tis more precious,” said the woman, "for 
what is life without love? And said I not ’twas 
a charm for kings and princes?” 

"Wilt thou warrant its efficacy?” 

"Nay, I will warrant nothing. The formula 
by which ’tis prepared hath been handed down 
in our tribe sith the days of the Ramessu, and the 
simples of which ’tis compounded are obtained 
through toil and dangers that no ordinary mor- 
tal would dare encounter. If that be not enough 
for thee without further warranty, then go thy 
ways.” 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 1 57 

‘‘When wilt thou fetch me this elixir, an’ I be 
willing to pay thy price for’t ?” 

“One sennight from this day will I deliver it 
unto thee.” 

“For five gold ducats?” 

“Ay, for five gold ducats. But thou must give 
me earnest money, as a guaranty that thou wilt 
keep to thy bargain.” 

The young Jew turned his back on the woman,^ 
and thrusting his hand in his bosom drew out a 
leather purse, from which he extracted a piece of 
money, that, facing her again, he handed to her. 

“Ho, ho!” she laughed, mockingly, while she 
gazed at the shining coin as it lay in her open 
palm. “Your Jew knave liketh not that the world 
should know what money he hath in his pouch, 
and therein is he wiser than your Christian fool,, 
who, when he hath got a little gear together, 
runneth about cackling, like a hen that hath laid 
one egg — ‘Clalack! clalack! I have riches! I 
have riches !’ that the whole world may know it.” 

“This day sennight, at this same hour, will I 
await thee here,” said her companion, provoked 
at the clamor she made, and anxious, now that 
the bargain was struck, to be rid of her. 

“I’ll not fail thee,” she replied, “and I know 
thou’lt not fail me,” holding up her prize be- 
tween the finger and thumb and then hiding it 
somewhere among the folds of her dress, “and 
even if thou dost I’ll be the richer by a gold 


1 58 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

ducat. AdioSy senor. The god of love smile on 
thee.’’ 

''AdioSy^ he repeated, entering the patio and 
closing the gate as she moved away. 

When she heard the gate shut to she turned 
her face to it again and made a curious gesture 
with her left hand. 

‘‘Ah,” she said, “thou art a fine cockerel for a 
Jew, but a fool withal, and, I doubt me, a wicked 
fool. But what saith the wise one? ‘The fool’s 
wickedness shall compass his own undoing/'' 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


159 


CHAPTER XVIL 

'Thou art too quiet, girl, too quiet,'' said 
Beneberak. "It pleaseth me not to see thee so 
still; 'tis not thy natural bent. Thou wast wont 
to be ever gadding — thee and thy dog — too 
much, methought, but it made the roses blossom 
in thy cheek, and so I never hindered thee. Now 
that thou ne'er goest abroad, thy cheeks have 
lost their fullness and their bloom, and thou art 
no longer the merry wench thou wert." 

" 'Tis my humor to stay at home," replied An- 
tonia. "I like not the glare o' the sun and the 
noise o' the streets." 

"Tut, tut, thou art a silly pate. What avail- 
eth it to sit moping the day long? Get thee out 
with thy dog! The beast, weary of waiting for 
thee, hath ta'en to following me, and, though I 
like not dogs running at my heels, I suffer it. 
He looketh up in my face so ruefully that I can- 
not find it in my heart to forbid him, knowing 
that he loveth thee." 

The girl looked at her grandfather with eyes 
glistening with tears. 

"Ah, how I have misjudged you, dear grand- 
father," she said. "I thought not you were so 
soft of heart." 


l6o A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

''Chut, child, Beneberak replied, a little test- 
ily, "must a man be soft of heart because he doth 
not kick the whining beast that cometh in his 
way? Thou know's t little an’ thou thinkest so. 
There be men who would deny a starving child a 
crust and throw it to some pampered cur that 
chanced to have won his favor; whose horses are 
better housed than half the poor wretches whose 
toil hath made the provender on which they feed. 
A man may have a heart of flint and yet caress a 
dog or horse that is his own; 'tis part of his 
vanity, nothing more. But take thy dog Carlos 
and get thee abroad; I like not the complexion 
of death on the face of the living — 'tis unnatural.'^ 

Carlos, who had been lying disconsolate in a 
corner, pining for the love he seemed to have lost, 
roused by the sound of his name, got up, and go- 
ing to his mistress, laid his head in her lap and 
looked up in her face with his brown, wistful eyes, 
slowly wagging his tail, as if he were uncertain 
whether his advances would be kindly received 
or repulsed. 

"Dear Carlos," said the maiden, patting him 
gently on the head, "poor dog ; in my selfishness 
I have been cruel to thee. Come, let us go for a 
stroll by the river, and thou shalt refresh thyself 
with a bath." 

She arose and adjusted her mantilla, and the 
dog leaping up tried to lick her face and then 
rolled over and over at her feet. 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. l6l 

'' Tis well/' said the old man. ''Get thee gone 
at once ! A stroll by the river or in the Alameda 
will do thee good. But go not without the city 
gates, girl. Remember what befell thee once ow- 
ing to thy imprudent habit of wandering in soli- 
tary places." 

"Fear not," replied Antonia. "The lesson hath 
not been forgot, nor is't like to be soon," and 
when her grandfather had left her, she added, 
"nor what good fortune did come to me with it. 

0 mysterious fate! that led me into the greatest 
peril of my life that I might find its richest bless- 
ing." 

Avoiding the more frequented streets Antonia, 
wending a narrow thoroughfare which she knew 
would conduct her quickly to the river, was ac- 
costed by a man-at-arms. 

She looked at him with straight, fearless gaze, 
but without recognition. 

"Your senoria doth not remember me," he said. 

"Stay," said the maiden, putting forth her hand 
with that gesture of laying hold on something 
about to escape us, so common under such cir- 
cumstances, "stay! Ah, now I recall thy face. 
Thou art Rodrigo. But 'tis scarcely strange that 

1 did not quickly know thee, Rodrigo, since I 
ne'er saw thee but once before." 

"Nay, senorita, 'tis scarcely strange, as you say ; 
but it hath been through no fault of mine that 
you have seen so little of me. I have been con- 


i 62 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


Strained to remain in the country all this time, 
and have but just returned to Seville/' 

hold thee not blameworthy, Rodrigo/' said 
Antonia. “The sehor Hernandez gave me to 
know that thou wouldst seek employment in or 
near the city, and one who entereth the service 
of another cannot be his own master." 

“ 'Tis as you say, senorita/' replied the soldier; 
“yet nath'less, had circumstances permitted I had 
called to see how you fared. 'Tis this way with 
me, you perceive: the lord with whom I took ser- 
vice seemed to think that my health or my morals 
would be endangered in this same good city of 
Seville, and kept me so employed that I had ne'er 
a chance to put my nose inside the city walls." 

“And how cometh it that thou art now in Se- 
ville?" asked Antonia. 

“I am a free man once more, having quitted 
the service of my lord, and go whithersoever it 
doth please me to go. I like not to serve them 
who think with their gold they buy a man's soul 
as well as his body." 

“There be such, I know; and thou hast done 
well, methinks. I trust thou wilt find service 
more to thy liking here in Seville." 

“Whether I do or no, here will I stay," said 
Rodrigo. “But e'en now was I on the way to 
seek your senoria. Methought but to stop at yon 
bodega for a sup of wine, for, craving your par- 
don, I am consumed of a mighty thirst. You 
can have no notion how campaigning doth in- 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 163 

crease the natural thirst of man, senorita — and 
here are we fortunately met/' 

''Fortunately met," repeated Antonia. "Yes, 
for I am glad to see thee, Rodrigo, and — and if 
I can assist thee — in living whilst thou art out of 
employment, I mean " 

"Nay, nay, senorita/* hastily interrupted Rod- 
rigo, "twould ill become one like me to go a beg- 
ging of you." 

"But it would not be begging — oh, no, I meant 
not that, my good friend." 

"Thanks, many thanks," said the soldier, "and 
I'll consider it as ’tis meant, but a few pieces go 
a long way with me, and Fve not been so im- 
provident a spendthrift as to squander all uny 
wage." 

"It pleaseth me to know thou art so discreet," 
said Antonia, "and now that thou art come to 
Seville to abide I trust to see thee oft. Now, I 
fear me, I have already kept thee standing here 
too long ; so go, good Rodrigo, and quench thy 
mighty thirst. I would not for a prince's ransom 
thou shouldst suffer longer from so great a 
drouth on my account." 

She said this with a whimsical smile on her lips 
as she turned to resume her walk, and left the 
soldier protesting that no wine could cheer the 
heart as could one look at her sweet face. 

"Think'st thou so?" said a voice behind him, 
and facing about quickly he confronted a gi- 
tana. "And, prithee, what would the senor Her- 


164 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


nandez think an’ he saw her discoursing so sweet- 
ly with a man-aA-arms in 'the service oi the 
greatest libertine in Spain?” 

'‘He’d think no ill, mother,” replied Rodrigo; 
“for the senor Hernandez knoweth Rodrigo San- 
chez too well to doubt his honesty, whomsoever 
he may chance to serve.” 

“Perchance he doth place his trust wisely — I’ll 
not gainsay it — but one judgeth the man by the 
company he keepeth, the servant by the master 
he serveth.” 

“And right eno’, I do allow. But, let me tell 
thee, an’ el senor conde be what thou sayest he 


''Vaya amigo T cried the gypsy, interrupting 
him, “thou knowest full well what el senor conde 
is, and thou canst not lie, even by implication — 
thy face betrayeth thee. By that same sign know 
I, likewise, that Rodrigo Sanchez is the honest 
man he doth profess to be ; for the man who can- 
not face his own lie is no rogue. But come, as 
thou art an honest man, tell me, what did impel 
thee to take service with el conde 

^^Carambar exclaimed the soldier, “meat and 
drink, for what else should one man serve an- 
other?” 

“Bah! thou couldst as easily have earned meat 
and drink among honest men, like thyself, as in 
the company of rogues, such as ^he count keep- 
eth about him.” 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 165 

''Cuernos del diabloT said the soldier, speaking 
"with some exhibition of vexation, ‘'thou art as 
keen at cross-question as the doctors of Sala- 
manca. What are my affairs or my motives to 
thee?^’ 

“Naught, an’ they cannot bear the light of 
day,” said the gypsy, turning away abruptly and 
leaving him. 

“Hump!” said the soldier, looking after her, 
^‘wherefore doth the woman seek to pry into my 
affairs, and how hath my lord, the count, of- 
fended her? She is not comely now, whatever 
she may have been in times past. But, then, the 
count is no boy. Hm — hm!” 

Antonia having reached a place where the 
river’s bank sloped with a gentle inclination, 
employed h'erself throwing bits of wood into 
the water for Carlos to swim after. The dog 
appeared to enjoy the sport much more than 
his mistress did, for he jumped about and barked 
with eager excitement, while she performed her 
part with a listless, uninterested air. 

At last, with a sigh of weariness, she sat down 
under an ancient olive tree that grew there, and 
the dog, swimming ashore, laid his prize at her 
feet, shook the water from his long hair — sur- 
rounding himself with a circle of sparkling drops 
and tiny rainbows — and stood in front of her, 
looking in her face with shining eyes, wagging 
his tail, and seeming to invite her to take up the 
gage once more. Just then the gypsy drew near. 


1 66 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

'‘You rest in the shadow of the olive, lady,’^ 
she said, "and the olive is the symbol of peace. 

Antonia looked at her with surprise, for she 
had not noticed her approach. 

"The symbol would be more apt,’’ she said, 
"did not those lands where the olive flourisheth 
produce men of fierce natures and fiery tempers, 
who are ne’er content to rest in peace.” 

"You say rightly,” replied the gypsy, "but the 
symbol hath its significance nath’less: to you,^ 
who sitteth in its shadow now, it signifieth peace 
and prosperity. Shall I tell your fortune, lady?” 

"As thou wilt,” said the girl, extending her 
palm for the woman’s inspection, "but I warn 
thee I have no faith, neither in signs nor pal- 
mistry.” 

"Believe you not that there are those who can 
look into the future and tell the fate of others by 
signs and symbols known only to them?” 

"The future is in the hands of the good God, 
and man knoweth naught of it save what it hath 
pleased Him to make known through His 
prophets.” 

"Then you care not to hear aught of the brave 
young cavalier who hath left you to seek fame 
and fortune in the new world?” said the gypsy, 
looking at the palm still held out before her. 

"Nay, say on, good woman,” replied Antonia; 
"the question is not whether I shall hear, but 
what I shall believe.” 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 167 

see/’ said the woman, ''a meeting by run- 
ning water; 'twas the first.” 

‘‘Now thou speakest of the past, not of the 
future,” said the maiden. 

“The past, the present and the future are 
closely knit the one with the other. Years went 
by — one, two, three — and he, the young soldier, 
crossed your path again, and this time he left 
you not so quickly, and not until his heart was 
won ; but he left you in spite of the pleadings of 
love, and followed in the track of the dove; but 
like the dove of Noe, he shall return and then 
there will be joy for you and him. But, in the 
mean time,” pretending to study the palm of the 
girl’s hand more closely, “there is a rival.” 

Antonia, who had listened with indifference 
thus far, started at the mention of a rival. 

“Ha!” said the gypsy, “doth that touch you, 
senorita? Know you that the cavalier hath a 
rival? You may not believe in my science — you 
think me an impostor, perchance — but the poor 
gitana warns you to beware of this rival ; he hath 
much cunning and little conscience.” 

“I said not thou wert an impostor,” replied 
Antonia. “I doubt not thy sincerity, but to me 
what thou believest to be a science seemeth a 
folly.” 

“Ah, senorita , said the gypsy, “you are unlike 
all other ladies I know; there is not one but 
would have asked me more questions than I 
could well have answered and never doubted 


i68 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


the truth of what I should tell them. Would 
that I could read the stars, as a certain seer of 
my tribe can; then would you harken to me, 
for you can scarce doubt the claims of that 
science which readeth fate in the shining page of 
heaven.’’ 

Antonia made no answer. Though she lived 
in an age of gross superstitions, the influence of 
which was felt in the prince’s palace as in the 
peasant’s hovel, hers was not a mind to be easily 
imposed on by vulgar soothsayers and fortune- 
tellers. And although she might have some faith 
in astrology, practiced, as it was at that time, by 
men of learning and reputed wisdom, she was not 
ready to credit the assertions of every pretender 
^ who might claim to possess a knowledge of the 
science — if science it may be called in these 
days, when the true science, astronomy, is tak- 
ing such astonishing flights, even surpassing in 
the wonders of actual discovery the pretended 
marvelous revelations of her bastard sister, 
whose professors never dreamed how far the 
truth transcended their fanciful imaginings. 

Carlos, who was getting tired of waiting for 
some notice from his mistress, now began to 
show signs of displeasure, in the way that dogs 
are usually wont to manifest that feeling. 

'‘Your dog regardeth me with an evil eye, 
senorita/^ said the gypsy. 'T fear me he will give 
me a taste of his teeth an’ I stand here chattering 
longer.” 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 169 

‘‘Down, Carlos!’’ said the maiden, and the dog 
laid down, but continued to mutter his disap- 
proval of so long a conference, in which he was 
not included. '‘He will not bite thee ; he is im- 
patient to begin play again, but I have no mind 
to indulge him.” 

“He will be better content when I am gone, at 
any rate,” said the gypsy, “so I will go my ways ; 
’tis better to please e’en a dog than to displease 
it. Adios, senorita*' 

“Stay!” cried Antonia, rising, and thrusting 
her hand in a pouch of ornamented leather that 
she wore at her girdle — she took from it a piece 
of money, which she gave to the woman. 
“There,” she said, “that may serve thee when 
thou art sick. Or perchance thou hast others 
dependent on thee, and I know that life is hard 
to such as thee.” 

“You say truly,” replied the gypsy, “and may 
the good God, in whom we both believe, bless 
you.” 

“And you likewise,” responded the girl. 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


170 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE NEW WORLD. 

The Spanish force was numerically small, but, 
by scattering his men in squads and singly along 
his line of defence, Rossi managed to cover it all 
and make quite a show of strength. Of course 
there was danger of a weak battle-line like this 
being broken by the savages, but the white men 
were all armed with arquebuses, which, clumsy 
weapons though they were, they handled with 
considerable celerity, and besides these each man 
carried one of those short swords that had been 
found so effective at close quarters in the many 
wars engaged in by Spain during the fifteenth 
and sixteenth centuries, and during which her 
soldiers had become renowned throughout 
Europe. 

The two small cannon, as we already know, 
were so placed that one commanded the approach 
by land and the other the waterway, and to 
serve them a sufficient number of experienced 
artillerists — bombardiers they were then called — 
had been detailed. 

The whole arrangement was a simple line of 
skirmishers, extending across the point and 
along the river, supported by two pieces of ar- 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 171 

tillery, and Rossi’s orders were, whenever the 
enemy should make his appearance, to keep up 
a rapid fusilade. The men were numbered and 
were instructed to fire by file — that is, every 
other man, beginning with the even numbers, 
discharging his piece, the others holding their 
fire in reserve until the first had reloaded, and in 
case the attack should be concentrated on any 
particular point the odd numbers were to quit 
their posts and rally to repel assaults, thus leav- 
ing some, though at greater intervals, along the 
line of fortification. 

When the lookout man had fired his arque- 
buse his bullet had taken effect in one of the 
heads in the river, though not the one he had 
aimed at, and when the swimmers arose to the 
surface of the water again, which they did a con- 
siderable distance further off, they were one less 
than their original number. 

Rossi went to the base of the tree, and hailing 
the man, asked why he had given the alarm. Be- 
ing told, and getting some idea as to the direc- 
tion in which the Indians were, he ordered the 
gunner who had charge of the falconet to lower 
his piece and send a ball after them. 

The roar of the gun broke on the stillness of 
the night like a clap of thunder, and the ball went 
ricochetting across the water, doing no harm to 
the savages, ’tis true, but filling them with con- 
sternation and making them hasten to take 
refuge in the marshes. 


172 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

The Italian was too wise to imagine that this 
would be the end. He believed it was only the 
prelude to a general attack, and his military 
sagacity led him to guess pretty accurately the 
plans of the enemy. As we shall see, this fore- 
sight enabled him to use his little force to the 
best advantage. 

The object of the band of aquatic adventurers 
had been to make a landing unobserved within 
the entrenchments, and, this accomplished, lie in 
concealment until the war whoops of the main 
body of their dusky comrades should warn them* 
that the assault in front had begun, when they 
were to support the attack by falling upon the 
rear of the white men. 

Had this movement been successful it would 
certainly have proved fatal to the Spaniards, but 
the ease with which Nawahtonah had slipped out 
of the camp had made them wary, and an order 
had been promulgated to fire at any object seen 
floating in the river. So the attempt had failed, 
and the commandant, with good reason, con- 
cluded there was nothing further to fear from 
that direction, and drew off a part of the men 
stationed along the water front to strengthen his 
force at the entrenchments, which he had no 
doubt would soon have to sustain a heavy as- 
sault. 

Half an hour elapsed and there was no sign 
of any enemy without, and the less wise among 
the men were beginning to grumble at being 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 173, 

kept from their rest unnecessarily, as they 
thought, when Gonzales called the attention of 
his superior to something crawling along on the 
ground at no very great distance from the works. 

The space between these and the forest was 
covered with little clumps of palmetto, which in 
the sweep of sand appeared at night like many 
islands in a dim grey sea. Rossi had wanted the 
men to clear these away, well knowing they 
would prove a good cover for a cunning foe, but, 
with the recklessness of soldiers who have a con- 
tempt for the adversary they are dealing with, 
they had refused to do more than clear a space 
about one hundred feet wide in the immediate 
front and he had permitted them to have their 
way rather than run the risk of another mutiny. 

The object Gonzales pointed out disappeared 
the minute after among the palmettos. 

‘‘What was it, thinkst thou?’' asked Rossi. 

^"Twas a man, sefior/^ was the reply, ^^and I 
doubt me, there be more of his kind out there.” 

'^Methinks thou art right, Pablo,” said the 
other. ‘‘Go thou and see that the men are in 
order of battle and ready for the conflict, and 
when thou hast performed thine office take 
charge of the right. I will remain here with the 
centre. Leandro Mendez, a brave soldier and a 
trustworthy, hath the left, as thou knowest.” 

When he thought his lieutenant had had suffi- 
cient time to carry out his instructions Rossi told 
one of the men standing near him to fire into the 


174 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

cluimp of palmetto where the dark, crawling 
form had disappeared. 

The report of the arquebuse was followed by 
a wonderful scenic transformation in front of the 
Spanish fortified camp. The space, before as 
silent as the chambers of death, where not a liv- 
ing creature stirred, became in an instant a pan- 
demonium, filled with raging, yelling demons. 

Sending a flight of arrows whistling about the 
ears of the Spaniards, some of whom were se- 
riously wounded, the savages made a general 
rush forward. Then the clear, ringing tenor 
voice of Rossi was heard : ''Steady, men-at- 
arms; fire!'’ and there was a crash of report. The 
enemy halted, still yelling and shrieking, when 
another volley was poured into them, the falconet 
adding its thundering voice to the chorus of 
small arms. 

When an army, whether civilized or savage, is 
checked in its onward career, it takes but little 
to send it flying backward, a terrified, demoral- 
ized herd. Recoiling before this second dis- 
charge of iron hail, which cruelly tore their naked 
bodies, the Indians turned and fled to the forest, 
managing, however, even in their panic, to carry 
with them their comrades who had fallen, both 
the slain and the wounded. A detachment of 
soldiers that, after the dawn of day, ventured out 
on a scouting expedition, failed to find a single 
dead or wounded man, though the field of battle 
was strewn with bows and arrows, tomahawks 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 1 75 

and war clubs. A splotch of blood here and 
there, trampled into the sand by many feet, and 
staining it a dark brown red, showed where a 
warrior had yielded up his soul, and that was all 
there was to prove that their balls had taken 
effect upon the bodies of men. 

The soldiers had gathered some of the aban- 
doned weapons, to preserve as trophies, and were 
about to retire, when a flight of arrows whizzing 
by them and rattling against their armors warned 
them that the enemy had only retreated to cover, 
and hastened their return to camp. 

One of the men was pierced through the calf 
of his leg, but the others were unharmed, and all 
succeeded in getting safely back within the en- 
trenchments, the wounded man assisted by his 
comrades. 

During the day the garrison, with the excep- 
tion of the regular guard, slept and rested. The 
savages lurked in the woods, seldom showing 
themselves, and then only for an instant, disap- 
pearing again so quickly that it would have taken 
a keen marksman, with a much better weapon 
than the arquebuse, to have hit one of them; so 
the Spaniards wisely refrained from wasting their 
ammunition. 

Several days passed in this way, the savages, 
who had evidently established a regular siege, 
occasionally sending a flight of arrows into the 
camp, but for the most part making no active 
demonstrations. The white men, being tried sol- 


176 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

diers, accustomed to the many stratagems of war,, 
were not deceived by this quiescence, but re- 
mained on the alert. 

On the fourth day after the conflict at the 
dusky twilight hour a little oak bough, thickly 
covered with leaves, was seen floating down the 
river with the tide, which had just turned, and 
was flowing out. At any other time it would 
have passed without attracting any notice, but 
the Spaniards were suspicious of every little cir- 
cumstance out of the usual course, and this little 
bunch of leaves claimed the special attention of 
the guard. There being a standing order to shoot 
at anything floating in the river, it became a tar- 
get for each sentinel as it went by his post, and 
the men shouted to each other in terms of ap- 
proval whenever a particularly good shot was 
made, laughing loud and long at one or two that 
went wide of the mark. But the mark itself re- 
mained untouched, some of the bullets striking 
the water in front and ricochetting over it, and 
Others flying to one side or the other. 

The soldiers laughed and jested with each 
other for having expended their ammunition to 
no purpose, and the little oak bough floated on 
until it reached the sound, when the current or 
wind carried it towards the beach, where it was 
lost to the sight of them who had been firing 
at it. 

Along the sea beach no sentinels were sta- 
tioned, the earthworks having been so con- 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. I 7 7 

structed as to bring the soldier on the last post 
down to the water's edge, whence he could see 
along the whole stretch of white sand to the 
mouth of the river. This man, who had been 
wondering what was amiss, saw the object of 
the fusillade when it floated out into the sound 
and watched it until it seemed to get aground in 
some shallow place, where it remained stationary, 
when, shrugging his shoulders, he resumed his 
march back and forth on his beat. In a little 
while twilight deepened into night and then a 
strange thing happened. 

Had the man on the lookout thought it worth 
his while to watch that little cluster of leaves — it 
was still visible from his post, as a dark spot on 
the face of the shining waters — he would have 
perceived that it slowly approached the shore. 
It floated towards some black stumps that stood 
midway between the high-water and low-water 
lines, and were at the time partially submerged. 
It moved as under the pressure of a gentle 
breeze, until at last it became entangled among 
these stumps. 

As soon as this happened a dark figure, per- 
fectly naked, came out of the water — like a 
great fish that had chosen to leave its natural 
element — ^and crawling over the sand until it 
reached that which was above tide water, and 
consequently dry, rolled over and over, covering 
itself from head to foot, as with a white powder. 


178 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

The Indian who had thus by a cunning strata- 
gem gained a footing in the camp was not dis- 
tinguishable now from the beach on which he 
lay stretched at full length, except on very close 
inspection, and he remained perfectly still, feeling 
that he ran no risk of being discovered save by 
some one passing within a few feet of him, and 
for such an emergency he was prepared. 

This warrior was Thicsico, who burned to be 
avenged for the brutal wrongs and insults to 
which his betrothed had been subjected. He 
had chosen for his undertaking the hour of dusk, 
when the Spaniards could see just sufficiently 
well to distinguish the actual character of any 
object floating in the river, without being able to 
discover if there were anything concealed under 
it. Breaking a bough thickly covered with leaves 
from a recently fallen oak, he had swum with 
it into the middle of the stream some distance 
above the camp, and concealing his head in it, 
had lain quite still in the water, allowing himself 
to drift down with the current. When the sol- 
diers had begun firing, sinking the full length of 
his arm, and holding his buoy lightly with the 
hand, he had safely passed the principal danger 
he had had to encounter during his short voyage. 
Once in the sound he had but to strike out for 
the shallows and then gradually approach the 
shore, swimming, wading, crawling, without ex- 
posing his body to view, and still keeping his 
head concealed among the leaves. 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. I 79 

The soldier pacing his beat cast a glance 
along the strip of white sand whenever he came 
to the water's edge, but saw nothing; and the 
v/arrior, who had managed with a scarcely per- 
ceptible movement of his body to bury himself, 
never stirred; waiting and watching with in- 
domitable patience for the hour which should 
bring him into the presence of the enemy he 
sought. 

At midnight the guard was relieved and the 
Indian, hearing the voice of the subordinate in 
charge giving instructions to the man he had 
brought to take the place of the one on the last 
post, thought a party of soldiers was coming his 
way. Taking a firmer grip of the tomahawk that 
he held in his hand, he half arose, looked search- 
ingly around, flitted like a shadow up the sloping 
bank and disappeared. 

The commandante had gone to his quarters 
early in the evening, leaving orders that he should 
be called two hours after the midnight watch was 
set in case he did not make his appearance before 
that time. Laying aside his steel cuirass and 
casque, he stretched himself on his rude couch 
and was soon sleeping heavily, as a man fatigued 
usually sleeps. But soldiers engaged in active 
warfare, accustomed to be aroused at any mo- 
ment, are peculiarly sensitive, and awake often 
from the deepest slumber of their own accord at 
the hour appointed for them to mount guard or 
in the mom.ent of danger. So the Italian awoke 


i8o 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


fully a half-hour before the time he had appointed 
to be called — awoke with a shuddering sense of 
impending evil. He didn't stop to speculate as 
to the nature or cause of the sensation that pos- 
sessed him; but, rising, stepped softly across the 
little chamber to the corner, where he had de- 
posited his arms before lying down. 

As he reached over to lift them from the floor 
his ears caught a curious muffled sound, like that 
which a bat makes when it flits by in the dark- 
ness, and instinctively turning his head he looked 
towards the narrow opening that had been left 
in the wall for a window. There he saw a re- 
markable silhouette. In the frame formed by 
the window appeared the head and shoulders of 
a man, a black profile against the starlit sky, 
which served as a light background to the simple 
but significant picture, significant because from 
the top of the head arose the scalp lock of an 
Indian warrior, and above the head was lifted a 
hand grasping a tomahawk, ready to strike a 
death blow. For an instant held, as by some 
fascinating power, Rossi gazed at this apparition 
without moving. He felt as though he were 
about to witness his own murder, for the Indian 
stood over the bed he had just quitted. It was 
like a flash of revelation to him, as if he saw a 
picture of fate in a magic glass. But only for 
the shortest possible space of time did this feeling 
of duality hold possession of him, and with awak- 
ing consciousness of the true situation came 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. l8l 

quick and unhesitating action. Unencumbered 
by his armor, it was no extraordinary feat for 
him, with one leap, to reach his would-be assassin 
and seize him by the thoat; and the impulse to 
do this came so strongly and instantly upon him 
that he did not even think to first secure his pon- 
iard, which was lying within easy reach of his 
hand. 

The Indian was not prepared for an attack like 
this, and went down with scarcely more resis- 
tance than would have been made by any inani- 
mate object, the light and wiry Italian on top of 
him clutching his throat with a grip that meant 
death by suffocation if he did not soon free him- 
self of his assailant. 

Rossi had also caught him by the wrist of his 
right arm, and still held on to it, but his situation 
was desperate, and with his left hand, which was 
free, he managed to loosen the grasp on his 
throat enough to allow him to breathe. He was 
the heavier and stronger man of the two, and 
though he could not wrench his right arm away 
from the nervous fingers that clasped it, suc- 
ceeded in rolling over and bringing his antagon- 
ist on the floor alongside of him. Then, letting 
go the hand at his throat, at the risk of being 
strangled, he felt about for the tomahawk that 
had fallen from his grasp at the first onslaught 
of his foe. 

The white man knew very well what the red 
one was doing, but did not try to hinder him. 


1 82 ' A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

He just tightened his grip on the throat, knowing^ 
that to a man suffocating a weapon of any sort 
is of little use. 

Neither combatant uttered a sound, but car- 
ried on the deadly conflict in silence. To the 
Indian it would have been difficult under existing 
conditions to have given vent to even one of 
those peculiar grunts which the Ameri- 

can aborigines usually utter in lieu of 
exclamations, but the Italian knew he 
could make his voice heard in every part 
of the camp did he choose to call for as- 
sistance. He did not do so because his 
pride was piqued to conquer his adversary alone 
to lead him forth a captive — his captive — the evi- 
dence of his personal prowess. Such a consum- 
mation would have secured for him the respect 
which is always accorded great valor, and he was 
ready to risk his life on the chance, so anxious 
was he to impress his followers with his high, 
soldierly qualities. 

But he was not able to keep his grip on the 
other’s throat sufficiently tight to utterly disable 
him, and there was a long struggle, during which 
the combatants constantly shifted their positions, 
sometimes the Italian being uppermost, some- 
times the Indian, until both men were weary, and 
as by mutual consent lay still, breathing hard, 
the Indian for the time being having the advan- 
tage. Just then the report of an arquebuse was- 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 183 

heard — another, and then the mellow voice of 
the bugle calling to arms. 

The Indian seemed to comprehend the mean- 
ing of these signals, and strove, with all his 
might, to get away, but his enemy held him fast, 
and in the fearful fight that ensued his hand came 
in contact with the weapon he had so long groped 
for. With an exulting, half articulate cry, he 
clutched it, and at that moment a soldier, with 
a lighted torch in his hand, rushed into the room. 
The new comer stood for the instant stock still, 
gazing on the scene disclosed to him. Thicseco 
lifted his hand to strike the blow that was to set 
him free, but before it descended something 
flashed across the prostrate forms and hand and 
weapon fell to the floor. 

While Rossi and the soldier who had come so 
opportunely to the rescue were securing their 
prisoner they could hear the crash of combat 
progressing all along the line of entrenchments, 
volleys discharged from the arquebuses in quick 
succession mingled with the yells of savages, and 
an occasional roar of the falconet, in which all 
other sounds were momentarily lost. There was 
need for haste, and the latter proposed to dis- 
patch the captive with one blow of his sword; 
but to this the officer objected, and so the un- 
happy Indian was bound and thrust into the 
chamber in which Nanatonah had been confined, 
not that the Italian had any feeling of compas- 


184 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


sion, but because the speedy death of the enemy 
who had sought to destroy him would by no 
means satisfy the thirst for vengeance that raged 
in his heart. 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


185 


CHAPTER XIX. 

The commandante arrived on the scene of con- 
flict none too soon. Gonzales was a good lieu- 
tenant, but he could not be everywhere at one 
and the same time. He had sent the messenger 
to summon his chief as soon as the alarm was 
given, and had been wondering why he did not 
come, when his presence was so much needed. 

The savages had opened the attack by making 
a feint in force on the front, while a band of 
picked warriors had silently gathered on the 
beach, out of sight of the fortifications, and 
waded out into the shallow waters of the sound, 
designing to flank the works and fall upon the 
rear of the Spaniards. 

The plan was well conceived, but, un- 
fortunately for them the man stationed 
on the lookout was one of the most 
vigilant and trustworthy in the camp, and 
with restless glance, constantly roving from 
point to point, as far as he could see, he 
soon discovered a dark mass moving slowly over 
the face of the water. At first he wondered what 
it was, and then, like an inspiration, the truth 
flashed upon him. He shouted to those below, 
but received no answer. Amid the din of battle 


1 86 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

it was impossible to make himself heard, so, de- 
scending from his aerial station, he hastened in 
search of the commandante. 

He found Rossi and Gonzales consulting to- 
gether, there being just then a temporary lull in 
the storm, the Indians having suddenly with- 
drawn to cover, and made his report. 

‘‘Aha!” said Gonzales, ‘'that doth account for 
this sudden retreat to the woods. They'll not 
show their shaven pates again until their com- 
rades have had time to reach the shore, and then 
will they up and at us like ten thousand devils. 
'Tis a bad outlook, senory but, caramha! we must 
e'en make the best of it." 

“Ay," responded Rossi, “ 'tis as thou sayest, 
Pablo; but, with the help of Saint lago we will 
foil them. Go thou to meet this flanking party! 
Take twenty good men and true, and the falconet 
now standing idle in the redoubt by the river, 
and I doubt not we shall hear a good report of 
thee, an' we be not all with the blessed saints ere 
dawn." 

“There be some among us whom the saints 
will scarce stand surety for, senor” said Gon- 
zales, with a laugh. “Nath'less, we can but do 
what we may, and let the issue rest with saints or 
devils, which e'er shall claim us. So, adios or 
adiablos, as the case may be." 

''Adios/' said Rossi, to whom, because of his 
superstition, not of his Christian virtues, the 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 187 

irreverent talk of his reckless follower was very 
distasteful. 

Gonzales quickly got his men together and 
they dragged the falconet across the sand to the 
point where it was needed, when, stationing his 
little band in solid phalanx around it on the brow 
of the slight acclivity which forms a sort of rim 
to the basin of the sound, the lieutenant went 
down to the water’s edge, and, squatting so that 
his eye could skim the liquid surface, awaited the 
approach of the enemy. 

Thieseco was, as we know, a prisoner. What 
he had undertaken was, first, to slay the officer 
in command and then set fire to the cabins, which 
being built of very inflammable materials, would 
have been in a blaze almost as soon as the torch 
was applied to them. But the conflagration — the 
means for which he expected to find in the 
smouldering camp fires — was not to be started 
until the grand assault by land and sea began, 
when, in the general consternation and con- 
fusion, the savages expected to win an easy vic- 
tory and wreak an ample revenge. 

The band of warriors engaged in the flank 
movement entering the sound half a mile to the 
westward of the fortifications, and wading out 
several hundred yards from the shore — a thing 
easily done when the tide was low — had turned 
to the eastward and continued their difficult 
march until arrived opposite the camp, when, be- 
lieving their maneuvre had beeen unobserved. 


i88 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


they turned their faces landward and pressed con- 
fidently forward. When they were within fifty 
yards of the shore the chiefs called a halt. They 
were awaiting a renewal of the conflict in the 
front, and the warriors stood in the shallow water 
grinding the sand with their feet, not daring to 
demonstrate their impatience in any other way. 
They little dreamed there were eager eyes watch- 
ing them, and only waiting for them to come 
nearer in order that their destruction should be 
the more certain and complete. 

A quarter of an hour passed and then the dead 
silence that had fallen on the night was broken 
by a terrific crash — as if two great globes of steel 
had come together and burst asunder — followed 
by a demoniac chorus of yells, shrieks and 
whoops from a thousand savage throats. Imme- 
diately the Indians in the water began to move 
forward, silently, swiftly, and in a dense mass. 

Volley succeeded volley along the line of in- 
trenchments, and still they came on, until they 
were almost on the beach. 

‘'Steady, comrades,’’ shouted Gonzales. “One, 
two, fire!” 

Had one of those huge meteors that sometimes 
rush athwart the sky fallen in their midst the 
savages could not have been more panic stricken 
than they were when the Spaniards sent their 
messengers of death among them. Some fell 
dead on the spot; others, losing complete control 
of themselves, though they were brave men. 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 189^ 

turned and fled like frightened deer, while many^ 
shattered, torn and bleeding, dragged themselves 
out into the dark and dismal waste to die. But 
a goodly number still stood their ground. 

The Spaniards, having had time to reload their 
pieces during the confusion and uncertainty that 
followed their first discharge, stood awaiting or^ 
ders and the warriors who had not fallen or fled,- 
after hesitating a little, made a desperate dash to 
climb the sandy slope. Again the word was 
given, and again the arquebuses poured destruc- 
tion into their midst. The cannon requiring more 
time to reload, was not ready for this second vol- 
ley or there had been few of the brave fellows 
left to continue the struggle. As it was a third 
of their number went down. But those who were 
left never faltered nor stopped, and the soldiers, 
throwing aside their arquebuses, drew their 
swords. 

So greatly outnumbered were they even now, 
after so much slaughter, that it seemed as though 
the white men must speedily be annihilated, but 
discipline and superior arms made them more 
than a match for their uncivilized adversaries. 

Closing up around the falconet, which was be- 
ing reloaded, the short, strong swords, wielded 
by hands accustomed to their use, laid low all 
who came within their reach, while the stone 
tomahawks, thrown by the Indians, who could 
not get near enough, to use them otherwise, 
struck showers of sparks from the steel cuirasses* 


190 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

and casques, but did little actual harm. Like 
harvesters of death the Spaniards stood shoulder 
to shoulder, cutting down the dark harvest as it 
surged up to them, until their swords and arms 
were soaked in blood, and the ground was en- 
cumbered with dead and dying men. Then the 
little rank opened, and the falconet completed the 
fearful work. 

The few Indians who survived this terrible 
slaughter, disheartened, and, in many cases, dis- 
abled, reluctantly turned their backs to their foes 
and followed in the footsteps of those who had 
fled at the beginning of the action. 

Only one of the Spaniards had been killed — 
a tomahawk having cleft his chin and buried it- 
self in his throat — but several were more or less 
injured ; two so severely as to unfit them for 
further duty. Sending these two wounded men 
to their quarters, Gonzales marched the re- 
mainder of his little force, with the falconet in 
their midst, to the support of their comrades in 
the front, where the battle was still raging with 
great fury. 

The savages, after their first repulse, had re- 
turned to the attack with more determination 
than they had yet shown. Hearing the sounds of 
a conflict within the camp and believing their 
flanking party had succeeded in making an en- 
trance, they had pressed forward to the base of 
the works with brave persistency, notwithstand- 
ing the havoc made among them by the incessant 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. I9I 

Storm of bullets, and had well-nigh carried them 
by assault. 

But the Spaniards, rallying in force on the 
most threatened points, leaving some men to keep 
up the fusillade along the line, had, by a vigorous 
use of their swords, driven them back. At last, 
finding they could make no impression on their 
formidable adversaries by a general attack, the 
Indians had formed themselves into two great 
storming parties, which, under the leadership of 
their most renowned warriors, moved silently and 
resolutely forward for a final struggle. 

One of these parties, being infiladed by the fal- 
conet, had, after a few rounds from it and the 
arquebuses, retreated in confusion, but the other, 
out of reach of the cannon, had pushed on with 
dogged resolution until the foremost files had 
actually succeeded in gaining a foothold on the 
Avorks. 

It was just at this juncture that Gonzales came 
up with his reinforcements. By the dim light of 
the dawn, which had just broken, he could indis- 
tinctly see what was going on, and the field im- 
mediately in front of the spot where he stood 
appearing to be entirely deserted by the enemy, 
he took hold of the little cannon he had in charge 
and with the aid of several of his men hoisted it 
over the breastworks, planting it so that he could 
bring it to bear on the mass of struggling sav- 
ages. 


192 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


Two or three discharges from the gun, which 
was loaded each time with a handful of iron bul- 
lets, divided the dark mass of human beings into 
two distinct companies, one still advancing, the 
other retreating, and as soon as Gonzales saw 
this he threw down the lintstock that he had in 
his hand and drew his sword. 

“To the rescue, comrades!’’ he shouted, “to the 
rescue!” 

The charge of these men — only eighteen in 
number, but eighteen of the best soldiers in the 
troop — turned the tide of battle in favor of the 
Spaniards. 

Rossi had up to this time maintained his 
ground manfully. He and his little force had 
strewn the ground about them with dead and dy-- 
ing men, but the multitude seemed undimin- 
ished. Those in the advance knew not that those 
behind had fled the field, but with yells and 
shrieks, fierce cries of wrath and exultation, re- 
gardless of death, they still pressed on, and never 
faltered until Gonzales and his men, striking them 
in the rear, cut their way through to the very 
front; and even then some refused to turn, but 
were cut down from behind while striking at the 
foe before them. 

When the sun rose not an Indian, save the 
dead, was to be seeen, and not all of the slain 
were there, the living having carried off many 
in their retreat. 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 1 93 

Rossi paced to and fro on the low parapet 
looking over the field of battle, and his heart 
beat high with exultation. There were many 
dead men lying within a stone^s throw of him — 
lying singly and in groups — and it was a mourn- 
ful spectacle to awaken such a feeling; but he 
exulted — his soul within him was glad. He had 
achieved a wonderful success. Of that genius or 
talent — which is necessary for the conducting to 
successful issue battles and campaigns, he cer- 
tainly had displayed a fair share, and if there be 
anything to rejoice the heart of man in being the 
chief actor in the bloody drama of war, then 
surely he had a right to exult and be glad. What 
though he had been the aggressor? What though 
he and his comrades, thrown by accident upon 
these shores, had been hospitably entertained and 
treated as friends by the simple and wondering 
inhabitants? Was he any the less a hero? He 
who had broken faith with a confiding people 
and slaughtered them without mercy! 

He had taken off his casque to permit the cool 
morning breeze to fan his hot brow, and as he 
stood dreaming of the future, in whose shadowy 
depths he seemed to see an aureole of glory held 
over his head by princely hands — whizz! — some- 
thing flashed so close that it grazed his cheek. 
Hastily putting on his casque he turned to see 
whence the missile had come, when another 
struck him fair in the forehead and fell to the 
ground at his feet. It was an arrow, and had it 


194 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

not been for the steel headpiece he had donned 
so quickly his dream of glory had been but short 
indeed. 

The blow stunned him, but he recovered in 
time to see a flying form drop behind a log over 
which a dead Indian was lying. 

Stepping down within the parapet, but keeping 
his attention fixed on the spot .where the figure 
had disappeared, he called two soldiers to him, 
and telling them what had happened directed 
them to take their arquebuses, go outside the 
fortification and, as if searching for something on 
the field of battle, gradually approach the log 
behind which the fugitive was hiding from oppo- 
site sides. Should he attempt to escape they 
were instructed to shoot him, but to endeavor 
to take him alive. 

The men, though physically weary with slay- 
ing, and about to seek needed rest in their quar- 
ters, nevertheless started off with alacrity to obey 
these orders. It was sport to them to hunt one 
more wretched savage to the death, though it 
would seem that the evidence of the past few 
hours’ bloody work lying there, still and ghastly 
in the morning light, should have been enough 
to glut the most sanguinary appetite. 

When they were gone on their mission the 
Conimandante called the sentinel who was pacing 
his beat a short distance off and told him to take 
his stand beside him. 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 1 95 

''Dost thou see yonder log, Benito?’' he asked, 
^hen the man had done as he was bade. He did 
not make any sign to indicate what log he meant, 
though there were a good many logs lying about 
in the open space between the entrenchments and 
the forest, and Benito, casting a glance over the 
field, looked mystified. 

"What log doth your senoria refer to?” he 
asked; "I see many logs.” 

"Look thou well to the left,” was the reply, 
"and thou wilt see a log across which a dead 
savage lieth with his head this way, the tuft of 
hair on the top of his head hanging down like 
the tail of some animal.” 

"Ah,” said the soldier, "I know now which log 
you mean, senor. It drew my attention before 
the sun rose owing to that same savage lying 
there. As you say, the tuft of hair looketh like 
the tail of a four-footed creature, and methought 
at first ^twas some beast of prey that had come 
to breakfast on the dead.” 

" ’Tis well,” responded Rossi. "Now, what I 
have to tell thee is this: Behind that log on 
which there is a dead man lying there is a living 
man hiding.” 

"And wherefore doth he hide there, senor 

"For no good, that I can tell thee. When the 
feast is o’er and the revelers departed, he that 
lingereth behind hath some evil design.” 

"I doubt it not, senor; but what design hath 
this knave savage, think you?” 


196 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

^'Look thou/' said Rossi, picking up the arrow 
that lay at his feet ; ‘diad this accursed little thing 
done the work it was sent to do I were a dead 
man now." 

''Carambar exclaimed the man. 

“Ay," continued the officer, lifting the visor of 
his steel cap and showing the place on his fore- 
head where it had struck, red and swollen, “the 
savage aimed well, but the casque was made of 
true metal — may the saints be good to the ar-- 
morer who forged it! — and he failed in his 
purpose. He is now lying behind yonder log, 
and Rafael and Lorenzo have gone to make cap- 
tive of him, an' it be possible. But these people 
are cunning and fleet of foot. Ere they can come 
near him he may escape to the forest. Now, that 
which I would have thee do is, in case he leaves 
his lair to shoot him, an' thou hast skill eno' to 
do it." 

“I am not lacking in skill in the use of my 
weapon, senoVy as any of my comrades can tell 
you," replied the soldier; “at long distance or 
short distance, at a stationary mark, I can shoot 
with the best of them, but a flying mark is always 
difficult to hit." 

“iThou canst do thy best," said Rossi ; “ 'tis all 
I require of thee." 

In the meantime Rafael and Lorenzo, with 
their heads bent and walking slowly, stopping 
now and then to pick up an arrow or a tomahawk, 
approached the spot on which the eyes of Rossi 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. I97 

and Benito were fixed. But the savage must 
have been watching them, and probably sus- 
pected a trap, for he suddenly jumped up and 
ran toward the forest before they had half accom- 
plished their purpose ; and the two were so earn- 
est in pretending to be only bent on a quest for 
battle-field relics that they actually did not know 
what had happened until they heard the report 
of Benito’s gun, when looking up they saw the 
fugitive drop after limping along a little further. 

‘‘A most excellent shot,” said Rossi. ^Thou 
didst not boast of thy skill without reason, my 
good Benito, and hadst thou not been so quick 
and true of eye yon savage would have escaped.” 

But the soldier did not appear to take much 
pride in what he had done; the expression of his 
face had suddenly become serious. 

‘What aileth thee, man?” asked Rossi. “Art 
not content with thy marksmanship?” 

“Nay, sooth,” replied the man, “I am not con- 
tent.” 

“And wherefore, prithee?” 

“I fired too quickly.” 

“Fired too quickly?” repeated Rossi. 

“Ay, senor; for methinks the quarry is a 
woman. But it was too late when I perceived 
this — it came like a flash — fuse was already to 
powder, and the ball sped on its errand.” 

“Didst thou never in all thy wars kill a 
woman?” 


198 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

''It may well be, senoVy that I have done so in 
the taking of a town, on which occasions there be 
ever some women will thrust themselves to the 
front in the melee, but I have ne’er slain one of 
them in cold blood, to that I can take mine oath, 
unless I have had the mischance to slay one 
now.” 

"Tush!” ejaculated Rossi; "suppose it to be a 
woman — ^what then? Tis one savage the less.” 

"I know there be some, senor, who would look 
upon the slaying of this wild woman in the same 
light as the slaying of a wild cat,” replied Benito, 
"but for me, I am not of that mind; albeit a 
heathen, she is nath’less a woman. The old 
mother in Spain, who cared for me when I could 
not care for myself is a woman, and to her I gave 
a pledge, when I left her to seek my fortune in 
the world, that I would ne’er harm one who 
might be a mother. 'For,’ said she, ' ’tis ill slay- 
ing the dam of the suckling kid.’ ” 

So saying the soldier returned to his post, and 
a few minutes later Rafael and Lorenzo brought 
in the wounded Indian and laid her bleeding and 
gasping at Rossi’s feet ; for a woman it proved to 
be — Nanatonah, 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


199 


CHAPTER XX. 

THE OLD WORLD. 

crave your senoria's pardon.^^ 

Antonia looked up. A woman she had never 
seen before stood in front of her. The intruder 
was dressed in the habit usually worn at that time 
by tire-women of ladies of rank. ‘T crave your 
senoria's pardon/’ she repeated. 

''How earnest thou hither?” asked the maiden, 

"Your senoria, I was told, hath no one com- 
petent to assist in the duties of the toilet, 
and ” 

"But thou hast not made answer to my ques- 
tion,” interrupted Antonia. "How earnest thou 
hither?” 

"Surely your senoria must know that I would 
not have come unless properly introduced by one 
of the household.” 

"And, prithee, tell me who hath been so bold 
as to introduce thee into this apartment without 
license of its mistress.” 

"A young man whom I met in the vestibule 
told me where I would find the senoria dona, and, 
coming on an honest errand, I thought it no 


200 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


harm to follow his direction and seek you here.’' 

“Ah. And now tell me what this honest errand 
may be — if it concerneth me.” 

“I was about to do so when your senoria in- 
terrupted me.” 

“Yes. I have a fancy — a whim, perchance 
some would call it — to take everything in its due 
course, and I had asked thee a question which 
required an answer before anything else might 
be considered. But now thou hast answered my 
question, so thou mayst expound thy reason for 
being here.” 

“As I have already said, senoritay I was told 
you had no maid.” 

“Thou wert then mistold; for I have a maid — 
one that is all sufficient to my needs.” 

“Ah, yes, the little black girl who waiteth on 
your senoria. But surely she hath not the art to 
adorn la senorito^s person as it should be 
adorned; she cannot dress her magnificent hair, 
nor arrange the mantilla so as to make her 
beauty most effective.” 

“I am content to make mine own toilet, and 
my little black girl as thou art pleased to call her, 
though she is scarce a shade blacker than thy- 
self, hath taste eno’ to give an opinion worth the 
having.” 

“But T, senoritOy have served as tire-woman to 
ladies of high degree, and there is not one who 
hath e’er found fault with me.” 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


201 


‘Thou dost speak as thou hadst served many. 
How doth it chance, an’ thou didst please them 
all, as thou sayst, that thou wert not sufficiently 
content to stay with one ?” 

‘There be many reasons, senoritay that may 
compel a servant to quit the service of a mistress 
who hath every amiable quality, and with whom 
she would gladly remain. Some times ’tis the 
master of the house; he may not be agreeable — 
or,” with a simper, “he may be too agreeable. 
Then again, ’tis the location; it may be in the 
country, where ’tis dull, or in a noisy part of the 
city, which is as bad to one who loveth quiet 
Avithout dullness, and life without clamor.” 

“Twould seem then, from thine own avowing, 
that thou art hard to please, and e’en had I need 
of thy services thou wouldst scarce serve me 
long ; for to one like thee life in this house would 
prove dull without measure.” 

“Permit me to differ with you, senorita. ’Twas 
the quiet of this place, which hath not the dull- 
ness of the country that first attracted me, and 
methinks I should be well content to stay here 
always.” 

“Ah, well,” said Antonia, who was getting 
weary of the interview, “there is no question as 
to whether thou wouldst be content or no ; for, 
as I have already told thee, I have no need of 
thy services.” 

“The lady whom I served last told me the 
same thing, senorita/' said the woman, making 


202 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


a respectful courtesy and moving towards the 
door, ‘'and yet within a month she sent for me,, 
and,^’ stopping in the doorway, “I only left her 
because she was about to retire to a convent.'' 

“To retire to a convent?" repeated Antonia. 

“Yes, senoritay' replied the woman, coming a 
few steps back into the room. “You see she hath 
a lover who sailed to the Indies a short while 
agone, and when he went away she betook her 
to the convent, where she will await his return, 
when they will be wed, she and the senor Her- 
nandez." 

“Hernandez!" repeated Antonia with a little 
gasp, “didst thou say the senor Hernandez?" 

“Yes, your senoriay the senor Julio Hernandez. 
He is a handsome cavalier as e'er was beholden 
by the eyes of wife or maid, but he is poor, and 
the senorita having naught save in expectation, he 
was obligated to seek his fortune in those wild 
countries that they say are on the other side of 
the great sea." 

Before her visitor had finished speaking An- 
tonia had regained her composure, and her mind 
naturally acute — a quality it owed to the Jewish 
strain in her blood — discerned something sus- 
picious in this plausible tale. She remembered 
that the young clerk of her grandfather had told 
her Don Julio Hernandez was betrothed to a 
lady in Seville; and then it occurred to her that 
he it was who had sent the woman to her. Ah! 
here was a conspiracy. The woman did not 


A Sl'EP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 205 

understand the sudden flashing of the splendid 
eyes ; she imputed it to jealous ire, and was en- 
tirely unprepared for the storm that burst over 
her; for when Antonia arose to her feet she 
seemed to tower above her, so high did she lift 
her magnificent head. 

‘‘God's mercy, woman!" she said, “art not 
afeared thou'lt drop dead where thou standst, 
like the two liars the good priests tell of? And 
there be two of you likewise. O, thou wretched 
tool of a despicable knave! How darest thou 
come to me, a woman like thyself, to try to make 
me miserable? To kill me? Aye! To kill me! 
For what could I do but die, an' that which thou 
hast told were true? But 'tis a lie, as thou well 
knowest, a horrible lie, meant to poison my very 
soul. Ah, Santa Maria mia! hast thou no 
shame — no pity?" 

‘‘But — but, senorita, how was I to know that 
the senor Hernandez was aught to you? And 
your senoria may put what I have said to the 
proof, an' you will." 

“Proof!" cried the maiden with infinite scorn. 
“Thinkst thou I would degrade Don Julio Her- 
nandez by bandying his name about in such a 
quest? Nay, I'm not the poor, weak fool that 
thou and thy employer think me. Hast thou no 
fear of hell, woman? Hast thou no fear of God? 
He, who implanted in our hearts, to be our chief- 
est blessing, that love which thou wouldst turn 
into a curse, with thy vile, slanderous tongue. 


204 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

Out of my sight! Away with thee! ere I be 
tempted to demean myself and avenge on thy 
person the insult offered to a most noble cavalier 
and to me.’’ 

She stood near a little table, on which her hand 
rested, and by the merest accident her fingers 
came in contact with a long-bladed, curious- 
looking knife that lay upon it — it was an antique 
Moorish weapon, kept simply as a curiosity. 

Involuntarily she clutched it, as she might have 
clutched anything else that she chanced to touch, 
and the woman, perceiving the action, uttered a 
little shriek and fled from the room. 

Antonia looked down at the implement she 
held in her hand, and with a laugh that was a 
strange anti-climax to her outburst of passion, let 
it drop on the table. She then hastened after 
her unwelcome visitor, to see that she left the 
house. 

As she drew near the vestibule she heard the 
voice of Joses, her grandfather's clerk. He was 
speaking in a low tone of smothered anger, but 
sufficiently loud for her to hear what he said, 
though disdaining to stop and listen, she only 
heard a few words. 

‘Tool!" he said, “to be affrighted of a girl, 
who, though she looketh like a young lioness 
when she is angered, would scarce hurt a 
kitten." 

“A lioness, truly," replied the woman whose 
departure she had come to hasten, “and one — " 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 205 

she did not finish her sentence, for just then the 
lioness came upon them, her eyes still flashing; 
but now they were turned upon the clerk. 

^^How darest thou stop this woman whom I 
have just dismissed from my presence?’’ she 
asked. 

‘^Craving your pardon, senorita,^^ replied the 
young man, ''may not one be civil to a woman — 
even a poor serving woman — without offence?” 

"Dost go out of thy way to be civil to poor 
serving women?” a tone of sarcasm in the speak- 
er’s voice. "Thy duties lie in the office of my 
grandfather, and yet thou art here when this one 
is about to depart, as thou wert when she came 
hither; for she told me thou didst send her to my 
private apartment.” 

The man cast a furious glance at the tire-^ 
woman, and replied, "Though my duties lie in the 
senor Murillo’s office of business, the vestibule 
is common to all the household, and, of a surety,, 
you will not impute it as a fault that I chance in 
coming and going to meet a woman who came 
here enquiring for your seiloria, nor that I gave 
her the advice she sought.” 

Antonia turned from him and addressed herself 
to the woman, who had stood silently regarding 
the young man with a frown on her brow. 
"Speak,” she said, "an’ thou speak’st the truth I 
will pardon thee for the part thou hast played in 
this plot to destroy my happiness. Was’t at the 
instigation of this man thou cam’st to me with 
the lying tale thou didst tell?” 


:2o6 a step-daughter of ISRAEL. 

The woman thrust her hand in her bosom, and 
withdrawing it immediately, threw a purse, in 
which there were several pieces of money, at the 
feet of the man. 

‘There!'' she said, “take thy gold; I'll none of 
it, though I earned it fairly." Then, to An- 
tonia, “I deserve not your senoria's pardon; for 
had this man permitted me to depart in peace, I 
had not betrayed his confidence; but he stopped 
me here to revile me because that you did not 
believe the tale he himself had concocted; there- 
fore, I hold myself no longer bound to him." 

Antonia looked at her in silence a moment, 
then she asked, “Art thou one of the race of 
Israel?" 

“The saints forbid!" was the quick response. 

“And yet thou hast engaged in a base con- 
spiracy with one of that race." 

“He paid well for the service, and I am poor," 
casting a wistful glance at the purse, that still 
lay at the feet of Joses; “and, when all's said, 
Twas but a simple thing." 

“Callst thou that a simple thing which might 
send thy soul to perdition? Had I been the 
poor, weak fool thou didst take me for, thou 
mightst have compassed my death, and 'tis as sin- 
ful to kill with a lie as with the dudgeon — per- 
chance more so. But, go now and thank the 
blessed Lord and His saints that thou hast 
failed." 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


207 


The woman, glad to escape so easily, went 
forth into the street, and Antonia quitted the 
vestibule to return to her chamber, without 
deigning a glance at Joses, who stood still a mo- 
ment looking down at the purse, which he picked 
up and hid somewhere in the folds of his gabar- 
dine. 

A few days after this occurrence Judit, An- 
tonia’s little maid, was standing in the main 
portal of the house looking out into the street, 
when she was accosted by Rodrigo. 

^‘Good morrow, my little Morisca,’’ said he. 

‘'Good morrow, soldado mio/^ she replied. 

“And how fareth her senoria prithee?” 

“Passing well, save that she pineth over much 
for a certain cavalier who hath cruelly deserted 
her.” 

“He hath not deserted her, saucy wench, as 
thou knowest ; but a poor soldier of fortune may 
not dally at my lady’s feet, like your rich senor; 
he hath his way to win. But come, where is thy 
mistress ?” 

“Had I a lover who left me to go to t’other 
end o’ the world,” said the girl, without heeding 
his question, “I’d find me another as good, and 
when he came back he might e’en woo some 
other maid.” 

“And dost give such counsel to the senorita 
Antonia?” 

“Nay, not I, an’ I did mine ears would ring a 
full hour after, I trow.” 


2o8 


A STEI^-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


‘^Aha! The senora dona can use that pretty 
hand of hers to good purpose then.’' 

*'Ay, that can she. But tell me, soldado mio^ 
what hath brought thee here so soon again — 'tis 
scarce a sennight since thou wert here before. 
Hast had news of the senor Hernandez? 

‘'Hath not the senorita had news of him?” 
asked the soldier, with a look of surprise. 

"Nay, not so much as a word.” 

"Then shall she have, and that right soon, I 
promise thee. Now run away, there’s a good 
wench, and tell her I am here.” 

"But why wilt thou not come to her?” 

" ’Tis not fitting that one like me should seek 
fine ladies i’ their chambers. Doth that suffice 
thee?” 

"Nay, but thou migbtst come into the vesti- 
bule or the patio, and my lady could see thee 
there,” persisted the girl. 

^'Sapristir said the soldier, "thou seemst re- 
solved to make me feel above myself; but I tell 
thee, doncella, I am unaccustomed to fine society 
and should feel but awkward in a great house 
like this one, so let me have mine own way, and 
do thou mine errand.” 

And all this was simply because Rodrigo’s 
prejudices, which he had imbibed with his 
mother’s milk, would not permit him to set foot 
across the threshold of a Jew. 

In a few moments Antonia greeted him with a 
smile and a pleasant word. 


’ A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 209 

‘‘Ah, Rodrigo,” she said, “it greatly content- 
cth me to see thee again, good friend. But thou 
didst tell me thou had’st occasion to be absent 
from Seville a short while. How is’t thou art 
still here? Or hast thou already been away and 
returned?” 

“I should have quitted your fine city this very 
day, senorita/' replied Rodrigo, “had I not 
chanced to meet an old comrade of mine who 
hath just returned from the Indies and who 
bringeth news that it will rejoice your senoria to 
hear.” 

“News,” repeated Antonia, with a catch in her 
breath as her heart gave a leap of joy, “news 
from the Indies, didst thou say?” 

“Ay, senorita. This comrade of mine, you 
must know, hath but now returned from His- 
paniola, and when I learned this I set me to ques- 
tioning him. He saith La Esperanm touched at 
the port and remained there some days. She 
had had a prosperous voyage, and all aboaird of 
her were well.” 

“Ah! And my lord, Don Julio?” 

“Before leaving Hispaniola the senor Hernan- 
dez confided to the charge of the captain of the 
ship on which my comrade returned to Spain a 
letter, which was doubtless for your senoria'* 

“And this captain,” said Antonia, anxiously, 
and a little impatiently, “where is he? Why hath 
he not delivered me this letter? O, my precious 


210 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


letter! When will I get it, Rodrigo? Couldst 
thou not find this captain, and — 

“But stay, senorita'' interrupted the soldier; “I 
have been a great fool not to have told you before 
everything else, that the ship which brought this 
letter belongeth to Cadiz, and the captain, ’tis 
like, hath not yet found a safe hand to entrust 
it to.’’ 

“Why could he not have sent it by thy com- 
rade?” 

“No man knoweth better than myself, that one 
like my comrade is scarce to be trusted with mat- 
ters of import, be they letters or what not; for 1 
shame to say it, your senoria, when there is no 
war afoot the wine shop is our usual haunt, and 
there is not one in a score of us who would 
trouble himself about so seeming small a matter 
as a letter, unless his pouch chanced to be empty 
and he hoped to replenish it by the delivery.” 

“But if thy comrade had brought me my letter 
I would have rewarded him — ay with double 
measure, Rodrigo.” 

“I doubt it not,” replied Rodrigo; “but I’ll 
warrant you, the captain of this ship knew right 
well what he was doing, for my comrade hath 
more wind than wisdom, as he must have 
known.” 

“Ah, me,” heaving a great sigh, “how long 
will it be ere I get my letter, thinkest thou ?” 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


21 1 


''Not long — that I will avouch/’ replied Rod- 
rigo, who now wished he had not said a word 
about the letter ; "two days, three days, perchance 
— not more.” 

"Then must I have patience. Alas! ’tis easier 
said than done, for patience abideth not with us 
when most ’tis needed.” 

"Now do I reproach me for telling your senoria 
about this same letter,” said the soldier. 

"Nay, my good friend, reproach not thyself,” 
said Antonia ; "’tis a joy to me to know that there 
is a letter coming e’en though the arrival be de- 
layed.” 

"Good, senorita, that’s the way to take it ; and 
now you give me heart to go this journey which 
I am obligated to take.” 

"How long wilt thou be gone, Rodrigo?” 

"A fortnight perchance, no longer. I go to- 
ward Cadiz, and should I chance to meet any 
travellers coming this way I’ll make bold to ques- 
tion them, and should one of them have this same 
precious letter in charge, I will bid him hasten.” 

"Ay,” said Antonia, her eyes brightening and 
her voice ringing sweetly in anticipation of the 
joy to come, "and tell him I will reward him well 
as soon as the letter is placed in my hands.” 

"But,” continued the soldier, "should I not be 
so fortunate as to meet the bearer of the letter, 
then will I seek the captain of the ship and get it 
from him and e’en fetch it myself.” 


212 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


''Do, good Rodrigo,’' the joy note already 
gone out of the voice at the suggestion of pos- 
sible delay, "and the reward shall be thine.” 

"I desire no other reward than a word of ap- 
proval from you, senorita^ 

"And that shalt thou have in advance.” 

"Then am I content. So now, adios/* 
**Adios, and a prosperous journey to thce.’^ 



A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


^13 


CHAPTER XXI. 

There was a chamber in Beneberak’s house 
that was seldom entered by any one of the house- 
hold save Antonia. It was the chamber in which 
her parents had died, and here had been arranged 
an oratory where she was wont to offer up her 
daily prayers; for there was not a more devout 
Christian in Seville than she. There was a 
little altar, covered with a piece of costly silk em- 
broidered in gold thread, over which was a cruci- 
fix in ivory, done by the cunning hand of Ben- 
venuto Cellini, and over that a picture of the 
Madonna and the child-Christ, painted by Cor- 
regio. Beneberak would not have permitted 
anything that was not a masterpiece in its way to 
hold a place in his house, for though he believed 
not in the divinity of the subjects portrayed, and 
deemed the uses to which they were to be put a 
mockery, he believed in the divinity of the art 
that portrayed them. He and his granddaughter 
looked at these things from different points of 
view. To him they were simply evidences of 
man's genius; to her, the beautiful symbols of a 
great truth. 

This chamber was hung with tapestry that fell 
loosely to the floor, and stirred with the breeze 


2 14 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

that entered at the open window. The wall was 
double on one side and behind the tapestry was a 
little door communicating by a flight of narrov^r 
stairs between the two walls with an underground 
chamber, quadrangular in shape, about twenty by 
thirty feet in size. This was also a sanctuary. 
It was a secret place of worship, where a few 
Jews — for the most part old men and women— 
who clung to the faith of their fathers, met on 
special occasions to practice the rites of their 
religion as ordained by the Mosaic law. At one 
end of the quadrangle stood an altar, the altar of 
incense, and behind that was a chest made of pre- 
cious wood in which was kept the Book of the 
Law. 

For ventilation, narrow openings had been left 
in the masonry on a level with the pavement of 
the patio, where a thick growth of dwarf shrubs 
served to conceal them, and light was supplied 
by a dozen or more wax tapers held in golden 
pomegranates affixed to the walls. The light 
from these tapers fell on a group of persons gath- 
ered about a brazen lectern, upon which the 
scroll lay open, and Beneberak stood there read- 
ing in a low, but distinct voice. 

It was the 14th day of the first month of the 
Hebrew Sacred year — the month Nisan (March) 
— and this little congregation, composed entirely 
of aged men and women, had come together to 
keep the feast of the Passover, though they knew 
they did so at the risk of their lives. Clothed in 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 2 1 5 

dark robes, girded at the loins, each holding a 
staff in the right hand, or leaning on it with both 
hands for support, with their strongly marked 
and sorrowful faces, they presented, under the 
flickering light of the tapers, a weird and striking 
picture. 

Having read from the Book of the Law, 
Beneberak lifted his eyes from the page and 
looked around upon the withered faces before 
him, in some of which was an expression of ap- 
prehension — almost of terror. 

‘‘Brethren,’’ he said, “brethren in love, in per- 
secution, in affliction, we have met here in secret 
to commemorate an event that for ages hath 
been commemorated by the children of Israel. 
Scattered over the face of the earth, reviled, 
hunted to the death, like the wild beast of the 
wilderness, thousands of our race, despite the 
rack and the stake, dare, like us, to celebrate the 
sacred feast. In the land of the stranger, with 
his heel upon their necks and his knife at their 
throats, the seed of Abram first tasted of the 
Iamb that was slaughtered for their salvation; in 
the land of the stranger, with his heel upon our 
necks and his knife at our throats, in the name 
of the Most High, the Great Jah, whom our 
fathers knew, who led them out of Egypt, out 
of the house of bondage, do we, likewise, eat of 
the slaughtered lamb.” 

Then the speaker took from a table that stood 
near a silver ewer, in which was the flesh of the 


2i6 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


slaughtered lamb, broken into bits and mingled 
with bitter herbs, and having tasted of the meat 
and the herbs himself, handed it to an elder, when 
it was passed from one to another, each taking a 
portion and eating, some with stern composure, 
others in fear and trembling, with furtive looks 
and keenly listening ears. 

The Church of Spain was a terrible power in 
those days, pursuing with remorseless zeal all 
whom it termed heretics or infidels, condemning 
them to torture and the stake; and the hapless 
Jew was the special object of its vengeance. The 
marvel is, with all that that wonderful race has 
suffered at the hands of all other creeds, that 
there is one now left on the face of the earth. 
Europe — Christian Europe, at that time was a 
mere slaughter pen — a very hell, in the lowest 
depths of which the children of Israel crouched 
and cringed. And should a congregation such 
as that now met in Beneberak’s house be sur- 
prised in their act of devotion, which was not 
only contrary to the mandates of the Church, but 
to the laws of the State, and which became so 
much the more heinous in that they had every 
one professed Christianity and been baptized — 
their lives would surely pay the forfeit. 

Having replaced the ewer on the table. Rabbi 
Beneberak resumed his discourse. 

'They would have us forsake the faith of our 
fathers,’’ he said, "to worship their images of 
stone and wood — their painted pictures of 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 217 

women. Shall we do this thing? Nay. The 
Lord our God hath said, Thou shalt not bow 
down to them nor worship them,’ and we will 
keep the law though death be the penalty. What 
fear ye? Is it death? Death is better than life. 
Fear naught, my brethren, save God alone, and 
thank Him that He hath given us death, a sure 
refuge from sorrow and suffering, from the 
snares of the wicked and the blows of the cruel.” 

Then turning his face to the east, toward the 
City of God, where the great temple built by Sol- 
omon once stood, he prayed ''Oh, Jehovah! Al- 
mighty Father! Who didst lead Thy people out 
of the bondage of Egypt, through the Red Sea 
and the Wilderness, to the further shores of Jor- 
dan — Thou didst promise our father, Abram, and 
again our father Jacob, and yet again Thy ser- 
vant, Moses, that we, Thy people, should be Thy 
peculiar people — Thine especial charge, whom 
Thou wouldst bless and multiply on the face of 
the earth, and make rich and prosperous above 
all other peoples. Behold us now, O Lord God 
of our fathers ! fugitives, hiding from the sight of 
them that covet our wealth and thirst for our 
blood, and seeking Thee in secret places, where 
the eye of man seeth not. How long, how long, 
Lord, must Thy people suffer? Restore now 
Thy city, Jerusalem, and Thy Holy Temple. The 
wicked laugh at us and mock us, because, they 
say, we have no God. They remember not that 
Thou hast said, 'I, even I, will avenge my people.* 


2i8 a step-daughter of ISRAEL. 

They trust in their armors of steel and their en- 
gines of war, which rend the air with a noise like 
thunder; they shout in their wrath and spare not, 
neither the old man nor the young child. Have 
mercy upon us, O Lord God of Israel ! Re- 
member not our iniquities, though they be many 
and grievous, but remember Thy servant, She- 
maiah, and Thy beloved David, and have mercy 
upon us. Avenge us on them that hate us ! Let 
not the sharp swords of our enemies smite us! 
but let the proud man be cast down in the dust, 
and let the cruel man perish in his wickedness! 
Amen!’’ 

‘‘Amen!” responded the little congregation, in 
a low, deep murmur, and then for a time all was 
still. 

In the chamber above this secret tabernacle sat 
Antonia reading her letter, which had been de- 
livered to her by a sailor that very day — three 
days after the departure of Rodrigo. Thus it ran : 

“These, with greeting, dearly Beloved. 

“Know that when we floated out of the 
Guadalquiver a gentle wind wafted us out of 
sight of the hills of Andalusia, and not till then 
did I cease to look backward to that dear land 
where I had left, with what grief I may not tell 
thee, a loving heart that I knew would pine till 
my return. 

“Why, then, thou wilt ask, did I leave thee? 
Know, love, that no true knight may sit down at 
his lady’s feet until he hath won fame and for- 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 2 1 9 

♦tune; therefore, have patience. I will not tarry 
from thee longer than I may be obligated by cir- 
cumstances. 

• ''When we had lost sight of Spain, I turned 
with a heavy heart — ay, I will confess that mine 
own heart was heavy, love — and faced the future 
that lay before me. 

''The gentle wind we had brought with us 
from Andalusia died away, or returned whence 
it came, and was succeeded by baffling, boister- 
ous gales, that tossed us about in much discom- 
■ fort and some peril many days ; but at last, with 
no loss of life, and little damage to our brave 
ship we arrived at this place, Hispaniola, a beau- 
tiful and exeedingly fertile island, abounding in 
^ delicious fruits, which, I warrant thee, we were 
rejoiced to get after our long penance on coarse 
sea fare. Here shall we remain some short while 
. when we shall sail yet further westward. The 
most excellent, the Captain Mendez, who is here 
refitting his ship to return to Spain, and who 
shall convey this letter to thee by a safe hand 
’ when he arriveth in the port of Cadiz, hath told 
me of lands as yet little known, where he thinketh 
; advantage may be had, not only in new discov- 
, eries, but in barter with the natives, and 
thither— ’ 

T When she had read thus far Antonia’s atten- 
tion was distracted from her letter by a low growl 
. from Carlos, who was lying at her feet, and, look- 
ing up, she saw a tall, dark man, dressed in 


-2 20 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


priestly robes, standing silently surveying the 
walls of the apartment. She turned deathly pale, 
and sat, like one spellbound, gazing at the in- 
truder. The dog, after its first manifestation of 
anger, seemed to be likewise affected and lay per- 
fectly still, also, with eyes fixed on the man, who, 
turning to the door through which he had en- 
tered, beckoned to some one without, when im- 
mediately six other men, armed with swords, 
came into the room. 

‘There,’’ he said, pointing to the tapestry that 
covered the double wall ; “tear it down.” 

The men moved to obey and Antonia, rising, 
started forward. 

“Nay, nay, holy father,” she cried, “destroy not 
my beautiful hangings. See! this is my oratory,” 
pointing to the altar, “and why will you desecrate 
it?” 

“Thine oratory, ay,” replied the priest, bending 
a stern look on her. “Go pray, woman! There 
be them in this house who will stand in need of 
thy prayers — go pray and meddle not with the 
servants of the holy office.” 

The men ripped up the tapestry with their 
swords and began to tear it down, when Carlos, 
who had been watching them with an angry eye 
and bristling hair, flew at them, barking furious- 
ly. As their legs were protected by the heavy 
serge gowns they wore and he did not attempt to 
bite, they heeded him not but continued their 
work and soon found the secret door in the wall. 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


201 


which they forced open, disappearing, one after 
another down the narrow staircase leading to the 
chamber below. 

The priest was about to follow when Antonia 
threw herself in the way. 

‘‘Stay, father!’’ she cried, falling on her knees,, 
and clutching his robe; “Go not before you have 
heard me. I am a faithful daughter of Holy 
Church and I will speak the truth.” 

He tried to shake her off, but not roughly; he 
treated her with a gentleness that appeared for- 
eign to the nature of one with a countenance so 
stern as his. 

“Listen to me,” she insisted, clinging to him.- 
“My grandfather, Basilio Murillo, you know,, 
father, is a good old man — all know that. He. 
is charitable — he giveth to the poor much of his 
substance. Yes, father. Ask the poor of Seville. 
They will tell you he denieth them not when 
they come to him in their distress.” 

“’Tis well for him,” said the priest, “if he be 
what thou sayest he is. “Charity covereth a 
multitude of sins ; yet must we suffer for our sins,, 
and Basilio Murillo breaketh the law, and maketh 
a mock of the Holy Sacrament of baptism, which 
he hath received. Even now doth he these 
things.” 

“Oh, father,” she replied, the tears that hadi 
been brimming in her eyes breaking bounds and' 
trickling down her pale cheeks, “he but keepeth 
the festival of the paschal lamb. Our dear Lord 


222 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


and His holy apostles did that, and surely ’tis no 
sin — what they did. He hath all reverence for 
Holy Church. And consider father, he is old: he 
hath but a few more years to live in the natural 
course, and why should those few years be cut 
short for so slight a thing? P'or I know when 
you take him hence these eyes that love the sight 
of him will see him no more. Alas! my father, 
when I lose him I lose all I have ; I will be alone. 
Ah! think of it, father! a poor maiden like me 
without a friend in all this cruel world !’' 

Her Voice was full of saddest pathos, but the 
man, who had thus far hearkened to her with a 
strange exhibition of patience, still preserved in 
his countenance the stern, uncompromising ex- 
pression habitual to it; if his heart was touched 
he never showed it by a w^avering look. 

‘The church,’^ said he, “hath wisely provided 
a safe refuge for all who may have the misfortune 
to be in such straits. Now, go pray; duty hath 
its claims as well as mercy.’^ 

With the exercise of a little force, he wrenched 
himself free of her grasp, and pointing to the 
crucifix over the altar, descended to the chamber 
below^ 

But she, instead of turning to the altar, with a 
moan of anguish, fell prone on the floor, where 
she lay perfectly still, like one dead, Carlos, who 
had become quiet after his first outbreak of furi- 
ous anger, lying down beside her whining. 

The men who first entered the Tabernacle 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 223 

found Beneberak alone. He was standing by the 
table on which was the ewer containing the meat. 

Where are thy companions?’’ asked the 
leader. 

'Thou seest I am alone,” was the reply. 

"Ay, alone now; but where are they who joined 
thee in thy iniquity even now?” 

There was no answer. 

"Speak!” said the man, drawing his sword, 
"speak! ere I strike thee dead!” 

"The dead whom thou makest will speak for- 
ever,” replied the old man calmly. 

The sword was returned to its scabbard, and 
the man, who had no authority to use violence, 
save in case of resistance, directed those under 
him to search for the way by which Beneberak’s 
companions had escaped. 

While they were thus engaged the priest came 
on the scene. 

"Basilio Murillo,” he said, "what doest thou 
here ?” 

"Thou seest,” replied Beneberak, dipping his 
hand into the ewer and carrying a bit of the 
lamb’s flesh to his mouth. "But call me not 
Basilio Murillo ; my name is Beneberak, as thou 
well knowest, and that thou hast chosen to be- 
stow upon me is but a foolish mockery.” 

There was something sublime in the defiance 
conveyed by this simple act and the words ac- 
companying it. It was the man’s soul that spoke. 
His body, he knew, no longer belonged to him ; 


2 24 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

it belonged to the authorities of church and state 
— to do with as they would; but his soul be-^ 
longed to its Creator, and no man had authority 
over it. What mattered it though his body were 
destroyed. The destruction of the body would 
be but the freeing of the spirit — sending it be- 
yond and above the destroyers and their narrow 
sphere. For that part of man which is all of him 
worth preserving — his essence — is as far beyond 
the reach of the powers of this earth as the re- 
motest star that gleams in the universe of his 
God. The dauntless soul knows this, and defies 
them to do their worst. Ah! wisely hath the 
Power Supreme limited the span of each little life 
on this earth to a few years! 

No more words were wasted on the obstinate 
old Hebrew, and an underground passage lead- 
ing out of the tabernacle having been found, 
Beneberak, with his arms securely bound, was 
ordered to lead the way, which he did without 
protest, muttering a few Hebrew words as he 
entered the dark passage, followed by his captors. 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


225 


CHAPTER XXII. 

THE NEW WORLD. 

rihe Indian woman was wounded in the thigh, 
and Rossi ordered her to be carried to one of the 
huts, where she was turned over to the care of 
the other women, he retiring to his own quarters 
to seek much needed repose. 

The soldier who had fired the shot looked after 
him as he walked away, and muttered to himself : 
‘‘He’s a good soldier, that Til ne’er deny after 
seeing the brave fight he made yesternight, but it 
pleasures me not to have been made a partner in 
such an affair as hath just befalien.” 

“At what art thou grumbling, amigo?'* asked 
a voice behind him, and Benito turning about 
confronted one of his comrades, who, having 
heard the shot, had come to see what was going 
forward. 

“Why, just this, Jose mio/' he replied. “At the 
behest of el senor Rossi, I deliberately leveled 
mine arquebuse at a woman, and had the misfor- 
tune to hit the mark.” 

“And what of that?” asked Jose, laughing, 
“Art so tender hearted as to cry over a hurt 


2 26 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

wench? Thou who hast been a soldier in the 
wars these ten years and more.'' 

‘T war against men, not women," said Benito. 
"Caramba! I'd liefer had the ball in mine own 
body than had a hand in putting it where it is. 
I know there be many would think lightly of this 
matter, as dost thou, perchance, Jose, but for me, 
I ne'er harmed wife, wench or widow until now, 
and I had not done that had not my fingers been 
quicker than mine eyes." 

''And thou takest no credit to thyself for thy 
skill? Rafael told me 'twas a marvelous fine 
shot," 

"Not a whit. I would my skill had been less 
ere it served me so ill a turn." 

"Methinks thou hast somehow missed thy 
vocation, Benito," said Jose, as he walked away: 
"Thou shouldst have been the follower of some 
gentle craft — a weaver or a cordwainer — instead 
of a man-at-arms." 

"Tliink as thou wilt," growled Benito, "but to 
my mind a man who hath some regard for the 
weakness of womankind may be as good a sol- 
dier as he who spareth neither age nor sex ; and 
we should not now be cooped up here, keeping 
watch and ward, day and night, were there some 
others of my way of thinking." 

But Jose heard not ; he was out of earshot be- 
fore Benito had well begun his protest, which 
would have been received with scoffs and jeers 
by a large majority of his comrades, had it been 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 227 

Uttered in their presence. Nevertheless, there 
were many who were of his opinion with regard 
to the cause of their then perilous position; for 
that it was perilous they began to perceive. 

Twenty-five of the Spaniards had been wound- 
ed in the last battle with the savages — some of 
them seriously so — and several had been killed. 
A few more such victories would prove their de- 
struction, and they began to consider the feasi- 
bility of marching along the coast to the east- 
ward, in which direction was a Spanish settle- 
ment, but how far distant they knew not. What 
obstacles they might have to surmount before 
they could reach it they did not consider. 

But, the question arose, what was to be done 
with the wounded. Some, who were only slight- 
ly hurt would, probably, in a few days, be in con- 
dition to undertake the journey, but those whose 
injuries were of a more serious nature would have 
to be transported in litters. 

Nearly all the garrison were assembled not far 
from Rossi’s headquarters in a sort of general 
council, when the man who was stationed on the 
lookout hastily descended from his perch and ran 
toward them. 

‘‘A ship! a ship!” he cried, almost breathless 
with excitement. 

^‘Hey! what doth he say?” asked one of the 
comrade who stood nearest him, as if he doubted 
his own sense of hearing. 

"'A ship, he saith,” replied the other, and the 


228 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


man having come nearer, all eyes being fixed on 
him expectantly, cried out again, while he point- 
ed seaward, ‘'A ship! a ship!’’ 

For a moment there was dead silence, every 
voice being hushed, and then there went up a 
great shout, and there was a tumultuous rush for 
the tree. Up, up, up they went, without regard 
to precedence of rank — he that was last being 
first in this instance — until the little platform in 
the tree was dangerously crowded, and the height 
of the tree itself might have been measured by 
the men clinging to its trunk. 

*‘Canst tell what manner of ship it is, Sancho?’^ 
shouted Rossi, who had not succeeded in reach- 
ing the platform before it was too full of men to 
admit of another occupant. 

''Ay, senoVy' cried the little sailor. "’Tis a 
Spanish caravel, an’ I be not mistaken.” 

"And how layeth she her course?” 

"To the westward, senor. She hath no press 
of canvas on her, and seemth to be drawing 
slowly along, searching, perchance, for an harbor^ 
where she may find safe anchorage for the night.’^ 

"We must do what we may to attract her at- 
tention,” said the comniandante. "Go down!” he 
shouted to the men below him. "We will kindle 
fires,” he said, when they had all descended, "and 
make a great smoke.” 

"And think you they will heed a smoke, 
senor asked Gonzales. "There is naught more 
common to be seen on these coasts.” 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 229 

''We will fire off the falconets/' said Rossi, 
^'and when 'tis night we'll set alight the fagots in 
the tree-top ; it will go hard an' we draw not the 
attention of some on the ship." 

"Fire and fagots!" said Gonzales, "'twill go 
hard truly, an' we draw not their attention, as 
you say, senor commandante; but perchance they 
will think the fire is kindled by savages who cook 
each other for supper, in which case ’tis like 
they'll steer clear of us. Nath'less, we can but do 
what we may ; so come, comrades, let's to work 
and see if smoke and noise will compass our 
rescue." 

So a great smoke was made and the falconets 
were discharged, sometimes simultaneously, 
sometimes in rapidly succeeding explosions. 

The sun was setting when Sancho Pinto, 
who had been watching the movements 
of the caravel, came to report that she 
had entered the pass between the two 
islands, and lay to under the lee of the 
one furthest to the east, and the men, believ- 
ing their signals had had the desired effect, were 
filled with joy. Nevertheless, Rossi, to make as- 
surance doubly sure, directed the sailors to add 
3^et more fuel to that already gathered in the tree, 
as he intended to kindle a fire that could not fail 
to attract attention. 

And now, when all hearts were filled with glad- 
ness, a cruel thought entered his head, and he 
went in search of his lieutenant. 


230 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

'Table/’ he said, "I have been considering 
what disposition to make of our captives.” 

"And to what conclusion hath your senoria 
arrived?” asked Gonzales. 

"These savages both attempted to compass my 
death,” said the Italian, "and for this they well 
deserve themselves to die, e’en had they not 
roused against us the enmity of the other sav- 
ages.” 

"Even so. And what manner of death shall 
they die, senor?” 

"Canst thou not guess?” 

"There be many modes by which men — ay, 
and women, too — are sent post to the devil,” said 
the Spaniard, with a sardonic smile. "Rebels and 
traitors are hung on gallows or broken on the 
wheel, and then drawn and quartered. Saints are 
sometimes stoned, sometimes broiled on a grid- 
iron, and heretics, witches and Jews are roastedw 
So it seemeth, there is little choice. Whether one 
be traitor, saint, heretic, witch or Jew, his goose 
is cooked for him, one way or another, and 
dressed with the same sauce, only under difYerent 
names; it dependeth entirely upon who it is that 
catcheth him.” 

"These savages,” said Rossi, who had listened 
with some impatience to this disquisition on the 
various modes of dealing with such as differed in 
opinion from them who chanced to be in power, 
"are both heretics.” 

"Not so, senor,” interrupted the other. "The 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 23 I 

priests say they are to be pitied, in that they 
have ne’er had pious teaching, and so they will 
not hear to their being served up hot, like your 
ordinary sinner, who hath forgotten or refuseth 
to receive mother church’s dogmas when offered 
him.” 

'They are unbelievers,” said Rossi, testily, 
*'and the woman’s a witch.” 

"True, and there being no priest to say us nay 
— ^thanks to the blessed sea, that swallowed, at 
one gulp, the only one we had on the ship, why 
not deal with them after the manner usual when 
the accused are heretics and witches, sehor?” 

"Certes, they merit no less,” was the reply, 
"and methinks ’twould be well to make an ex- 
ample of them.” 

" ’Tis well, sehor, and fitteth to my humor,” 
said the big brute, "and sith our purpose is to 
kindle a great fire in the top of yon tree, what 
could be more suitable than to set them in the 
midst of it, where they can grin at each other 
while they roast — the auto da fe is ever a cheer- 
ing spectacle to Christian eyes, and a double 
auto da fe in mid air will be doubly so.” 

The Italian, who had not been educated in the 
refinement of cruelty, like the Spaniard, shud- 
dered, but said nothing in deprecation of the 
inhuman act, and so it was settled. 

The ligatures with which the Indian warrior 
was secured had prevented him from bleeding to 
death, and after many vain efforts to free him- 


232 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

self from his bonds he had lain where Rossi and 
the soldier threw him without moving. Refus- 
ing all proffers of food, with a fierce glance of 
his dark eyes, he had turned his face away, and 
stoically awaited the hour of doom, which he 
knew could not be far distant. As for the man- 
ner in which he was to die — it concerned him 
not ; but when half a dozen of his enemies came 
in the darkness of the night, with torches, and, 
bearing him forth, laid him at the base of the 
great pine, up into which men were hoisting bil- 
lets of wood, he knew. 

He had seen many warriors perish in like man- 
ner without making a sign that could betray to 
their enemies the agony they suffered, and he 
resolved that these, his enemies, should find in 
him one who could die as a brave man should. 
, Therefore, when they laid him on the ground 
and stood a little way off watching him, they saw 
not the least sign of emotion in his stern, immo- 
bile countenance. 

Presently there was a stir among the men 
standing around him, and then Nawatonah, 
borne on a rude litter, was brought within the 
circle. This was an unexpected meeting for both^ 
and the heart of the warrior leaped within him, 
but there was no outward sign of feeling; and the 
girl, who had schooled herself into bearing the 
pain of her wound unflinchingly, showed scarcely 
less indifference, a sudden accession of ferocity 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 233 

to the vengeful gleam of her feverish eyes being 
the only change noticeable in her face. 

Now all was ready and the two Indians were 
about to be lashed to stakes, preparatory to hoist- 
ing them up into the tree, when Benito came 
forward and saluted Rossi. 

''Sehor commandante/' he said, ^'methinks ’tis 
quite enough that this woman hath been shot, 
and is like to die of her wound, without adding 
so much to what she hath already suffered.’’ 

Rossi looked at the man a moment as if he 
would strike him dead, and then remembering 
how slight was his hold on him and his com- 
rades, hesitated before speaking — the words that 
were almost on his lips remaining unuttered. 

‘‘Thinkst thou so, amigo f he said, in a con- 
ciliatory tone, one of those indefinable smiles 
that we often see on the faces of people when 
they smile unwillingly — through policy — playing 
curiously with the frown on his brow. 

‘‘Ay, senor,” was the reply, “and there be many 
others of my way of thinking.” 

“But I” — began the Italian, when Gonzales 
touched him on the shoulder, and whispered 
something in his ear, whereupon he said, “Pablo 
doth suggest that the woman’s case be considered 
another time, and I will so far waive my claim 
to adjudge her for having attempted to murder 
me. Proceed with thy duty,” to the men who 
were engaged in binding Tishsico. 

As Benito and several others lifted the litter to 


234 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

carry Nawatonah back to her quarters, she cast 
one inquiring glance at her betrothed. Contempt 
curled his firm, set lips, but otherwise his air was 
one of stolid indifference, and a look of exulta- 
tion came into the woman’s eyes. He was 
worthy! Here again the soul of man — under 
other conditions of life — soared triumphant above 
the masters of his body. 

The Indian was hoisted to the platform, and 
secured to a limb of the tree, the fagots were 
heaped around him and lighted, and then the 
man who performed this office hastened down to 
the ground, fearing to lose some part of the 
spectacle. 

Slowly the fire crept at first, licking its hot 
tongues in and out of the interstices between the 
billets of wood, and then after having played with 
its victim thus for a little while, like a live, cruel 
thing, it leaped upward hissing and roaring, 
wrapping him in many torturing folds. Anon 
drawing away, as if to look in his face, with sud- 
den swirl, it curled around him and the limb to 
which he was bound, soaring far above his head 
and setting alight the whole top of the tree, 
which blazed out like a great halo of glory 
around him for an instant, then died away, and 
was succeeded by myriads of sparks that as- 
cended with a huge column of black smoke, and 
dispersed themselves in every direction. The 
cords which prevented his freedom of action were 
soon cut by the flames, and he could have cast 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 235 

himself headlong to the earth, and thus ended 
the long agony of death, had he wished to do 
so; but he calmly laid his maimed arm on his 
breast — ^though it gave him excruciating pain to 
move it — folded the other over it, and looked 
down at his enemies, until overcome by the fierce,, 
all-devouring element, he sunk, a charred and 
lifeless body, amid the glowing mass. 


: 2^6 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

With the coming of dawn the garrison was 
astir, and the little sailor, Pinto, climbing up to 
the lookout, waited patiently for the light that 
should reveal to him whether the ship seen the 
day before were still where she lay at night-fall 
or gone as she had come. 

The fire had denuded the tree of its crown of 
needle-like foliage, and destroyed the platform, 
but that mattered little to him, and settling him- 
self among the charred and blackened limbs, he 
began to clear away the debris. 

‘'Caramba!’’ he said, while engaged at this 
work, ‘"it taketh a good hantel of wood to cook 
one savage. But this one, an' this be a bit o’ 
him,” picking up a bone with some shreds of 
burnt flesh clinging to it, ‘‘is so much overdone 
that methinks his own kind — whom they say 
are man-eaters — would scarce find him palat- 
able.” 

Throwing this away and after it many frag- 
ments of charred wood, he suddenly stopped and 
carefully scrutinized something black that he held 
in his hand. 

“This,” he said, “is his skull. Here were his 
eyes, and here his top-knot. Ha! amigo , an’ thy 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 237 

warlock were thy passport to paradise, as ’tis 
said, thou art in bad case now, of a surety ; for it 
hath been well singed — not a hair of it left. But 
thou wert a brave heathen, that I will say. I 
watched thee closely, and never once didst thou 
flinch. Thou didst look as thou wert going to 
be crowned rather than burned.’’ 

With this eulogium he tossed the skull away^ 
and turned his eyes seaward. 

‘'Ho! comrades!” he shouted to some men be- 
low, who were anxiously awaiting his report, “go 
tell the sefior commandante she is still there, but 
hath not as yet hoisted sail. Good morrow to 
you, friends,” shaking his hand toward the dis- 
tant ship, “a better acquaintance with you anon.”^ 

When the sun rose the ship was plainly to be 
seen from the shore. She had her sail set, and 
her course lay for the mainland, though not di-^ 
rectly toward the point where the Spaniards were. 
But again the falconets roared to her, and soon 
an answering roar came over the water, and her 
course was changed. A new flag-staff was 
rigged — the old one having been burned — where 
once more the great standard floated conspicu- 
ously over the pine, and as the ship came to 
anchor opposite the encampment she fired the 
usual salute to the flag. As soon as the sails 
were furled a boat was lowered and manned, and 
a cavalier, evidently of superior rank, came down 
from the poop, and took his place in the stern- 


238 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

sheets, when the oars, dipping with regular 
strokes, sent her rapidly through the water. 

Rossi, accompanied by his lieutenant and sev- 
eral of the men went down to the water’s edge 
to receive and welcome the stranger, who was a 
young man of commanding presence, differing 
from the most of Spaniards, in that his hair and 
beard were of a rich, auburn tint. 

Don Julio Hernandez, whose opportune ar- 
rival had prevented his beleaguered countrymen 
from starting out on a desperate venture was for- 
tunately well prepared to relieve their necessities ; 
the caravel, after a voyage in the southern seas, 
having recently been refurnished at Villa Rica 
della Vera Cruz. 

The men were anxious to get away from the 
place where they had undergone little else than 
hardships, but the Esperanza was too small a ves- 
sel to transport all of them, and Don Julio, who 
had accomplished little as yet, took it into his 
head that this would be a good place to found 
a colony, if he could re-establish friendly rela- 
tions with the natives; for he had been informed 
of their hostility, and the battle recently fought 
with them, though he did not as yet understand 
why it was that such a state of affairs existed. 

There was a chirurgeon, and also a priest, in 
his company, and under their care the wounded 
soldiers were soon doing well, with the exception 
of two or three whose hurts were of a very seri- 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 239 

ous nature, and whose chances of recovery were 
small. 

Though the senor Hernandez treated Rossi 
with punctilious courtesy and never questioned 
his authority, over his own men, he seemed to 
take command of the garrison by natural instinct 
of precedence, and this did not at all please the 
Italian, who soon found himself with only a few 
followers, Gonzales and some of his especial fa- 
vorites, the other men being only too glad to 
have one of their own compatriots to whom they 
could look as their commander. 

Nothing had been said about the wounded 
woman, who seemed to be improving under the 
treatment of the other women, and probably 
nothing would have been said had not Benito 
overheard Rossi and Gonzales conspiring to get 
rid of her. Neither of the men had any com- 
punction as to the manner of dealing with her; 
it was how to carry out their purpose without 
danger of discovery that gave them pause for 
consideration. 

Twere an easy thing to strangle her and 
throw her in the river,'’ said Gonzales, ‘Tut it 
must be done w'hen the full tide is running out; 
otherwise she may be cast up on the beach — as 
were some of the cadavers that were so disposed 
of after the fight — and that will set tongues a 
wagging, in which case 'tis like she'd make as 
much trouble dead as she hath done living." 

“Ay," replied Rossi, “trouble eno' hath she 


240 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


made — for very obstinacy, naught else — and I 
would not yon spriggald should know aught of 
the matter, not for the present, at any rate; for, 
I take it, from what he hath already said regard- 
ing these poor savages, as he calleth them — 
ascribing all their evil doings to ignorance in- 
stead of wickedness, that he is one of those callow 
youths who, not having been long weaned from 
their mothers’ milk, affect a certain tender regard 
for all womankind, Christian or heathen, which 
is mere childish foolishness.” 

Gonzales laughed. ‘‘I have seen many such,” 
he said. 'They start out with the intent ne’er 
to lay hand on a woman save in the way of amor- 
ousness, but in time, after they have encountered 
some of them that bite and scratch like very 
hellcats, this punctiliousness assumeth the look 
of a vice in their eyes, and any wench who sayeth 
them nay may stand a chance of having her 
throat slit.” 

"It being but to strangle her and throw her in 
the river,” said Rossi, recurring to the subject 
under discussion, "what were easier than to do it 
to-night? She lyeth alone in yonder hut, and 
the thing can be done when all is quiet in the 
camp, and who’s to know aught of the matter?’^ 

"But ’tis not so simple a thing as you seem to 
think, senor/* said Gonzales. "It must be, as you 
know, when all is quiet in the camp, betwixt the 
midnight hour and dawn, as near midnight as 
may be, but the tide must be in our favor; and 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISR^^EL. 24 1 

time and tide conjoin not always to favor man’s 
designs, be they good or otherwise, and at the 
present speaking they chance to be against us.” 

‘‘And how long, thinkst thou, will it be ere 
they conjoin in our favor.” 

“Three days — not less. But there is another 
matter to be considered, and that is the watch.” 

“Art thou not captain of the watch, in turn 
with the others?” 

“Ay, sehor, I am.” 

“And canst thou not so arrange, by exchange 
with another, that thou shalt have the setting of 
the watch at such time as thou wilt, and then dis- 
pose of the men to suit our purpose — our owm by 
the river ” 

“Nay, nay! not even they must know aught of 
this,” interrupted Gonzales. “I tell you, sehor, 
him you deem your truest friend to-day may be 
your deadliest foe to-morrow.” 

Rossi looked at his companion suspiciously. 
“And thou, Pablo,” he said, “wouldst thou desert 
me?” 

“Ay, sehor, an’ ’twere to mine interest to do 
so,” replied Pablo, frankly ; “but here our inter- 
ests tally, and cavaliers like to this senor Hernan- 
dez are not to my taste — they have not the true 
spirit of war in them.” 

''Basta! what dost thou propose?” asked the 
Italian, perfectly satisfied with the answer. He 
knew that nothing but self-interest governed his 

16 


242 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

own actions, though he would never have beem 
so candid as to acknowledge it. 

‘‘This,’’ said Gonzales; “I will see that Rafael 
is stationed at the last post on the river — that is 
a goodly distance, you perceive, from the look- 
out, which is a matter to be considered, and 
when the time hath arrived, and the thing is to 
be done, you have but to go to him and send 
him off on some errand — he’ll go fast enough at 
your bidding — while you hold his place. The 
rest will I manage, and none will know other 
than that the girl hath gone to her own people.” 

Benito, who liked not to play the part of a spy 
and informer, did not tell Don Julio of the plot 
to murder Nawatonah, but he informed him of 
her presence in the camp, ascribing her wound to 
what he called a mischance. 

“A mischance?” repeated Don Julio. ‘‘How 
came about such a mischance, prithee? And 
why is it I am only now apprised of this matter? 
My chirurgeon should have been attending the 
unfortunate had I known of her condition earlier. 
Thou takest a tardy interest in her it doth seem 
to me, amigo'' 

“The fact is, senor," said Benito, “the woman is 
doing very well, as concerneth her hurt, which 
she got through misapprehension, being mis- 
taken for a man-savage when she was running 
away, after having shot an arrow at el senor 
Rossi, but the quarters to which she hath been 
assigned are none of the best, and I will willingly 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 243 

give Up mine own to her an’ your senoria hath 
no objections.” 

This was an afterthought of the soldier, who 
was puzzled to account for what the scnor Her- 
nandez had called his tardy interest. And the 
thought was a very good one, for the woman 
would thus be brought into the midst of the 
camp, so that it would be difficult for Rossi and 
Gonzales to carry out their design, even should 
they wish to do so when they discovered that the 
girl’s presence was no longer a secret. 

‘T will see the woman,” said Don Julio, and 
guided by Benito, he went to a hut that stood 
somewhat apart from the others. It had been 
used as a sort of storeroom — where such of the 
accoutrements of the men as they did not care 
to be encumbered with, or had become useless, 
were deposited. 

When the cavalier entered this place he found 
the Indian woman lying on a rude bedstead, con- 
structed of pine poles and covered with moss. 
For this she was indebted to Benito, the soldier 
having done this much for her comfort as a salve 
to his conscience. She was asleep, and the vis- 
itor stood looking down upon her with eyes full 
of a great compassion; for she was very much 
emaciated, her cheeks were hollow, and the once 
round, graceful limbs were almost fleshless. 

'Toor creature,” he said, taking the thin hand 
in his. Just then she opened her dark, deep- 
sunken eyes, and looked up in his face. The 


244 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

Structure being low, he had doffed his head-piece 
on entering, and a broad ray of sunshine, break- 
ing through a rent in the roof, threw a flood of 
light over him, making his closely curling hair 
to look like a mass of rings of gold, his burnished 
steel armor to glisten and glitter with a splendor 
that dazzled this simple child of nature. She was 
not afraid — not even startled. 

To her he appeared a supernatural being that 
had come to visit her. Had she been a Christian 
maiden familiar with the traditions of the church, 
she would have thought the arch-angel Michael 
stood beside her. 

'Tobincha’' (sunbeam), she murmured, and 
closed her eyes again, as if overpowered by the 
vision. 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


245 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE OLD WORLD. 

The house of Basilio Murillo was closed, sealed 
with the seal of the Holy Office, which no tem- 
poral power in Spain dared break. The boldest 
brigand in the kingdom would have passed it 
by with averted eyes had the wealth of the Indies 
been scattered on its floors. Such was moral 
force, as represented by the church, in those 
days. 

A soldier passing that way stopped and looked 
at the house. There was a dead silence about 
the place that told him it was vacant. He ex- 
amined the windows and the door, and then he 
saw the seal, which he stooped over to inspect 
more closely, looking at it with curiosity, as if 
he had never seen the like of it before. 

^The sons of Mars 
Break bolts and bars, 

But dare not crack 
The seal of black.’’ 

A voice addressing to him this bit of doggerel 
from behind gave him a little start, and quickly 


246 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

Straightening himself up, he turned to confront 
the speaker. 

"‘Ho, mother!’' he said, finding himself face to 
face with the gypsy, ''is’t thou?” 

‘‘ Tis not my ghost,” replied the woman. 

‘‘Nay, though thou art not quite so plump as a 
pullet, one may perceive readily eno’ thou art no 
ghost nor like to be one soon,” said Rodrigo, 
laughing. “But canst tell me the meaning of 
this ?” pointing to the door of the house. 

“Ay, that can I. Where hast been this 
fortnight agone, an’ thou knowest not that Bas- 
ilio Murillo, the reconciled — Beneberak, the Jew 
— hath fallen into the clutches of the Holy Of- 
fice? Said I not thou couldst ne’er make singing^ 
bird of a magpie by miscalling it?” 

“Thou saidst it not to me; on that I’ll be 
sworn,” said the soldier. 

“Nay, amigo j I said it not to thee, sooth, but 
I said it to him who bewrayed the old man.” 

“And who may he be that bewrayed him ? But 
first tell me, an’ thou knowst, what hath become 
of the senorita?^^ 

“If thou wouldst know all that I can tell thee 
concerning this matter, thou must come with me 
elsewhere, for here is no place to stand chattering 
an’ we covet not beds in the same inn that now 
entertaineth the Jew, and such beds be not to my 
liking.” 

“As thou wilt, madre,^* 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 247 

‘‘Come, then,’’ said the gypsy, and when they 
had gone a little way, perceiving that her com- 
panion seemed ill at ease, she added, “Thou 
needst not walk beside me, man, an’ thou be’st 
shamed to play the callant to the gitana, though 
thou mightst be caught in worse company, let 
me tell thee, amigoJ^ 

With this the soldier dropped behind the 
gypsy, and following her at a little distance to 
the river which they crossed by the pontoon 
bridge to Triana, a suburb lying on the opposite 
side, soon found himself in a dingy apartment, 
where an old woman, surrounded by several 
dirty, hungry children, was busy stirring 
with a long handled wooden spoon, an 

olla podrida — a mess not unlike the witches’ 
famous stew in the variety of its in- 

gredients — that boiled and bubbled in a 
big iron pot, sending up clouds of steam and an 
odor that whetted the appetite, in spite of the 
unattractive appearance of the place in which it 
was being concocted. 

*'Vaya! brigand,” screeched the cook to an 
Importunate youngster, “canst not wait till the 
fire hath done its work? Or wilt thou devour 
me, wolf that thou art?” 

The boy said something to his little compan- 
ions and laughed. 

“Tough, am I?” cried the crone. “Take that 
for thine impudence, bobof* giving him a sharp 


248 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

rap on the head with her spoon, ‘'and know, had 
I not been tough I had not been here now to 
cook this mess for thy greedy belly. One 
must needs be tough in these times, an’ one 
would not be a churchyard tenant ere one hath 
well had a blink o’ this fine world. Hey, Felisa,” 
to the gypsy, whose presence just then attracted 
her attention, “hast picked thee up a fine callant 
in the streets of Seville, I trow. Hath he the 
wherewithal to furnish the house and buy the 
provender?” 

“Hush, madre Zucia,” said Felisa, “methinks 
two score years should be a wall of defence to 
protect one from all such foolish jests. The man 
will go as he came somewhat the wiser perhaps 
for a few words that I would say to him.” 

“Ha, words are naught,” said the old woman ; 
“in at one ear, out at ’tother; if any stick, ’tis be- 
cause they are like the pitch that defileth.” 

Felisa lighted an old, rusty, iron lamp, that 
made more smoke than light, and ushered Rod- 
rigo into a chamber which was as dark as any 
underground dungeon. 

“Sit thee down,” she said, pushing a three- 
legged stool towards him, and putting the lamp 
on the floor, where it encircled itself with a dim 
halo, and casting a few feeble rays upward, 
touched the features of the man and woman, giv- 
ing them a strange, weird look. 

“Thou wouldst know what I can tell thee of 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 249 

the Jew’s granddaughter?” continued the gypsy, 
after sitting down on a stool similar to the one 
she had given the soldier. 

''If thou wilt tell me where she is, and how I 
may come to have speech with her, ’tis all I ask 
of thee,” was the reply. 

"I can tell thee where she is, and how thou 
mayst come to have speech with her, of a surety, 
but before I do that I would know what interest 
thou hast in this senorita, for, certes, one may 
well marvel to see a man-at-arms — one who, I 
dare be sworn, hath made many a maid rue the 
day she saw him — a running after a lady of her 
degree, granddaughter of a Jew though she be.” 

"That there is naught in the matter to furnish 
food for gossip thou mightst well know, amigo/^ 
replied Rodrigo, "but to content thee, I will tell 
thee this: the scnor Hernandez, to whom this 
lady is betrothed, did leave me, Rodrigo Sanchez, 
who oweth him a debt not to be accounted in the 
ordinary way, as a sort of guardian to her during 
his absence, and I tell thee honestly, Td liefer 
lose my right hand than aught of evil should 
befall her.” 

"Why, then, did’st thou neglect thy duty?” 
asked Felisa. 

"One’s own flesh and blood hath claims,” said 
the soldier apologetically, "and who was to divine 
that while I was absent scarce a score of days 
the old Jew was going to walk into that trap 
from which no man e’er cometh out unscorched? 


250 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


But what canst tell me? Let us not sit here 
bandying words to no purpose.’’ 

“Thou must know then,” began the woman, 
“that Beneberak had for his scrivener a young 
spriggald ” 

“I care not to hear aught about this spriggald,” 
interrupted Rodrigo, impatiently, “ ’tis the Jew’s 
granddaughter we are to discuss, not his scrive- 
ner.” 

“Dost always run ahead of thy comrades i’ the 
fight?” asked the gypsy, sarcastically. “I trow 
not, what e’er thou mayst do on the retreat. But 
patience, amigo, I must tell my story in mine own 
way and we will come to the doncella anon.” 

“I crave thy pardon,” said the soldier, “but 
patience as thou shouldst know, is a virtue we 
are not born to.” 

“True eno’,” replied Felisa, “but thou art no 
chicken of yesterday’s hatching, and shouldst 
have acquired it ere now. To begin again, then. 
This scrivener — ^Joses is his name — having an 
eye to the old man’s riches, I doubt not, as well 
as the maiden’s beauty, took it into his silly pate 
to be enamored of his master’s granddaughter.” 

“iThe Jew dog!” muttered Rodrigo. “I will 
crop his ears for him an’ I fall in with him.” 

“Keep thy threats for a more worthy foe,” said 
Felisa, “and let me go on with my tale. I sold 
him philters with which to win his lady’s 
love ” 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 25 1 

‘'Carambar exclaimed the other, starting to 
his feet, '‘Didst thou aid and abet to cheat a 
noble cavalier of the love he had honestly won?'' 

“Fool!" said the woman, “thinkst thou mine 
own patience is of that quality which remaineth 
unmoved in despite of all provocation. Sit thee 
down and hear me to an end without another 
word from that ass's mouth o' thine, or else go 
about thy business." 

Rodrigo sat down again, curbing his temper 
as best he could, and Felisa continued. 

“Ay," she said, “I sold this lovesick youth a 
potion to steal the lady's coy affections withal, 
sith she would not give them for the asking. 
And, marry, wherefore should I refuse the gold 
he was so anxious to part with? ’Tis not every- 
day i' the year a Jew will open his purse to give 
one a maravedi, much less five bright gold 
ducats?" 

“And did he give thee five gold ducats?" 

“That did he, and thought he had a bargain. 
But, sooth, methinks the knave was mad, naught 
else; for it served him not, and the whole affair 
ended in his being told to pack. Then straight- 
way went he to an old patron of his — a certain 
count who had borrowed much money of Bene- 
berak — and told him the old Jew practiced the 
religion of his fathers in secret, and so the count 
seeing an easy way to cancel the debt he owed, 
denounced him to the Holy Office, whereupon 


252 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

he was taken, and taken in the very act ; for he 
and some others were keeping the ancient feast 
of the Passover when the house was visited. 
Now mark what happened. The sagacious youth, 
Joses, thought when the girl was deprived of her 
natural protector she would gladly turn to him, 
and so as soon as he knew the old man was 
safely caged he hastened to offer his sympathy 
and services; but, lo, the house was closed, as 
thou didst find it.'’ 

‘'But the senorita,^^ said Rodrigo, anxiously, 
“what became of her? I pray thee keep me no 
longer in suspense, but tell me her fate." 

“Ay, so will I. A woman who claimed to be 
of her kindred, by the mother, who was a Castil- 
ian, you must know, came and took her away. 
But she was none of her kindred, only one sent 
by this same count, who had long had his eye on 
the maiden, and took this occasion to place her 
where he could besiege her under the mask of 
kinship, for as her cousin doth he make hot love 
to her." 

“And this count of whom thou speakst — what 
name doth he bear?" 

“Canst not guess!" 

“Meanst thou the count Don Pedro Garcias?" 

“Ay, the same — him whom thou didst erst- 
while serve." 

“Prithee, how didst thou learn all this?" 

“The young Jew himself told me the part he 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 253. 

himself had played, for the rest I am indebted to 
mine own wit.^' 

^‘And knoweth this young man who it was fore- 
stalled him?” 

''Ay, I told him that myself.” 

"And didst tell him where the senorita Antonia 
is domiciled?” 

"Nay, that kept I to myself, seeing there was 
no reason why he should know it. But I doubt 
not thou dost marvel why I brought thee into 
this dungeon. I had two reasons for it,” and 
picking up the lamp she crossed the room hold- 
ing it aloft so as to throw the light into a dark 
corner. 

"Look,” she said. 

The soldier looked, and saw what appeared to 
be a bundle of rags. The rags began to stir, and 
a face, hollow-cheeked, haggard-eyed, was lifted 
from their midst. The eyes glared wildly, and 
the shrunken lips began to mutter and moan, 
when Felisa suddenly turned the light away and 
hurried the soldier out of the room. 

"Thou hast seen,” she said, a few minutes 
later, as they retraced their steps to the pontoon 
bridge, "what a woman may come to on whom 
Count Pedro casts an amorous eye. Twas for 
that I took thee into the place where we keep her 
in darkness — a light soon sets her raving — for 
that, and that we might talk without danger of 
being interrupted. She is my sister, younger 
than I am, and was once as beautiful as the: 


^254 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

senorita Antonia. What is she now? A curse 
upon him! The curse of hell upon him! But I 
have set a jackal on his track, and, lion though 
he be, methinks he'll rue the day he robbed the 
jackal of his prey." 

‘'What meanst thou?" asked Rodrigo. 

“He is mad, like yon poor wench thou sawst 
but now." 

“Who is mad, woman? Thou pratest as thou 
wert mad thyself." 

“The Jew, 'tis of him I speak. He is but a 
fool, and love hath made him mad, and for the 
doing of a desperate deed none surpasseth your 
made fool. Ha! ha! an' this noble lord be not 
wary the mad fool Jew will send him to sleep 
with his fathers ere many days be sped." 

Don Pedro Gerardo Alfonso Bernardo Mateo 
Garcias, conde del Monte-alto, sat in a chamber 
of his castle writing. This chamber was sparsely 
furnished. Besides the table at which he sat — a 
heavy affair, made of some dark wood, and hav- 
ing curiously carved legs — there were only a few 
straight-backed chairs and a Turkish lounge, or 
ottoman, the latter a luxury imported from the 
senuous East. On the marble floor were two 
large rugs, one under the writer's feet, the other 
in front of the ottoman — these likewise were im- 
portations from the Orient, and the walls were 
bare, save for a few old pieces of rusty armor, 
several ancient swords and poniards, a couple of 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 255 

Moorish cimeters, presumably captured in war by 
some former count of Monte-alto, which hung 
upon them without any regard to orderly ar- 
rangement. 

What was Don Pedro writing? Since the 
reign of Isabella, friend of Columbus, patron of 
science, art and letters, Spanish nobles had not 
been content to make their marks, in lieu of writ- 
ing their multipartite names to such documents 
as required their signatures. Not only did they 
learn to write their names, but they dabbled 
quite extensively in belles-lettres, inditing es- 
says and courting the muses; and Don Pedro 
was composing a sonnet. 

The count of Monte-alto was a man past 
middle life, still handsome, but not with the same 
kind of beauty for which he had been noted in 
his youth. He had once been a tall, slim young 
cavalier, with flashing black eyes, a silky mous- 
tache and an abundance of dark curling hair. 
Now he was a tall stout knight, with a heavy 
beard, slightly streaked with grey, and the curl- 
ing locks had deserted the top of the well shaped 
head, leaving it bare. The black eyes had lost 
their fiery brilliance, but there was still a smoul- 
dering spark in them that blazed up occasionally^ 
and there were sensual wrinkles around them, 
the animal passions that had dominated a life 
of some length having left their mark there as 
elsewhere on a face that would otherwise have 
been very noble. 


2 5^ A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

Such was the man who now sat writing a son- 
net, the self-satisfied smile on his voluptuous lips 
hovering over the words, among which extrava- 
gant Spanish adjectives, the grandies of the lan- 
guages, asserted their polysyllabic consequence 
at every turn, like a bird hovering over its nest 
of eggs. 

Having finished his verses, Don Pedro held the 
paper at arm's length and read them over aloud, 
then made a fair copy which he folded and ad- 
dressed, 

“For 

“The most Beautiful and Gracious senorita An- 
tonia Murillo" — tying it with a bit of floss silk, 
of which material, much used in epistolary cor- 
respondence in those days, he had a supply in a 
large portfolio that lay on the table. 

Evidently well pleased with his performance, 
and holding it lightly in his hand, he arose and 
went to the great mullioned window that lighted 
the apartment. 

Looking out of this window the count saw 
orange and olive groves and vineyards palpitat- 
ing in the warm embrace of the fructifying sun. 
There were a few houses in sight, some far 
away where the silver band of the Guadalquiver 
gleamed narrowing among the distant hazy hills, 
others close at hand. On one of these latter a 
little cottage, almost hidden in a growth of oaks 
and ilexes, he fixed his eyes with an eager, earn- 
est gaze. 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 257 

''Ah, she is there,’’ he murmured, catch- 
ing a glimpse of something moving in the shad- 
ows of the trees to the rear of the house. Then 
he heard the barking of a dog. 

"Curse the brute,” he said; "it must be dis- 
posed of! A woman in love with a dog hath 
ne’er a thought for a man. Ha! there was a 
purpose in its bark.” 

This exclamation was elicited by the sight of 
a man and woman walking near the outside face 
of the wall that enclosed the grounds surround- 
ing the house. 

"By the sword of Gonsalvo ! I know the pair. 
’Tis Felisa, the gitana, and the soldier, Rodrigo. 
What can a man-at-arms and a gypsy have in 
common? Some roguery, I’ll be sworn. I will 
have them taken in charge and nip their plot in 
the bud,” and Count Pedro turned away. 

Had he stood at the window a little longer he 
would have seen the two retrace their steps, and 
in a few minutes part company. The soldier 
went off towards the oity, but his companion 
sought a little postern in the wall, and, finding it 
unbolted, entered the enclosure where the dog 
was still barking. The count had taken two or 
three steps away from the window when the door 
of the apartment opened, and the young Jew, 
Joses, entered, closing it behind him. 

"Ha!” said the nobleman, "what meaneth this 
intrusion, knave? How didst thou gain admit- 
tance to my private apartment ?” 

17 


258 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

crave your senoria's pardon/^ said Joses, 
humbly. 

'‘Well, what wilt thou?’’ asked Don Pedro, im- 
patiently, seeing that he hesitated, "Art not con- 
tent with the price paid thee for betraying thy 
master? Judas received not so much for be- 
traying his Lord.” 

" ’Tis not the gold, senor,'' replied the young 
man; "in proof of which I have brought it back 
to you,” laying a purse on the table. 

"What then? Speak, fool!” 

"Beneberak-Basilio Murillo had a grand- 
daughter.” The speaker was very pale, his voice 
hoarse and trembling with suppressed emotion. 

"What is Basilio Murillo’s granddaughter to 
thee?” asked the count haughtily. 

"Much, senor — more than all else this world 
holds. I love her!” 

"Thou, dog?” and the speaker lifted his hand 
threateningly, but lowered it immediately with a 
scornful gesture, and broke into a laugh. 

"Ay, senor,' said the Jew, "I love her, and I 
have been told your senoria hath hidden her 
away.” 

"And if I have — what then? Hast thou come 
to beard the lion in his den? To snatch his prey 
from him?” 

Had Count Pedro known aught of human na- 
ture he would have been on his guard. The 
man before him had been pale when he entered 
the room, but now he was the color of a dead 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 259 

man, his lips were blue, and there was a hard, 
dogged look in his eyes which, to one less 
blinded by scorn, would have betrayed the sav- 
age purpose of the desperate soul that looked 
out of them. 

But nothing was further from the thoughts of 
the nobility of that day than that one of the un- 
fortunates whom they trampled on without com- 
punction, daily and hourly, would turn and with 
one resolute blow wipe out a lifetime’s wrongs, 
and the Count of Monte-Alto went on, mock- 
ingly, ‘‘Thou lovest the senorita Antonia,” he 
said, “but though thou art a comely youth, I 
doubt me if she loveth thee. She hath more of 
the spirit of Castile than of Judea in her, and 
would scorn to mate with one of thy race. But 
possess thee in patience, poor dog; ere many 
months are sped I warrant she’ll come to thee 
gladly. Now begone and be content that I 
have not thrown thee out of the window.” 

The Jew stood looking at him a moment, and 
then with a sudden bound threw himself upon 
him. Count Pedro was taken completely by 
surprise, and before he could recover himself his 
assailant had driven a knife deep into his throat. 
He fell heavily to the floor and lay there on his 
back, his arms outstretched, his eyes staring 
wildly up at the ceiling, his mouth opening and 
shutting with a gasping, gurgling sound. The 
assassin stood looking at his victim a moment; 
then, leaving the knife sticking in the throat, 


26o a ste?-daughter of Israel. 

softly went out. And the man lying there dying 
on the floor, whose eyes, fast growing dim, fol- 
lowed his retreating form, was the last who ever 
saw him. 

Late in the afternoon of that same day Rod- 
rigo Sanchez gave a tremendous rap on the 
gate leading into the enclosure in front of the 
little cottage already mentioned, and a few min- 
utes later the gate was opened by Antonia, who 
was accompanied by her dog, and a maid bear- 
ing a small portmanteau. 

‘‘Ah, my good Rodrigo,’’ she said, “I rejoice 
-to see thee.” 

“And glad am I to have found your senoria,'' 
replied the soldier. “For this we have to thank 
the gitana. Little did I think e’er to be under 
such a load of debt to one of her kind, but we 
know not to-day who may serve us to-morrow; 
wherefore have I ever held that a surly way is 
bad coin for every day use. A civil word, say 
I, though it had naught else to recommend it, 
hath the virtue of cheapness.” 

“Thou say’st truly, Rodrigo. But let us be 
going, amigo, Sith, the good gitana told me 
to whom I have been indebted for the shelter of 
yonder roof, time hath lagged, while I awaited 
thy coming, until the minutes have seemed to 
grow into hours. Adios, Juanita,” to the maid, 
from whom Rodrigo had taken the portman- 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


261 


teau. “Find thee a more suitable home, doncella; 
’tis ill for thee to be in this place.” 

“Ah, senorita, if I could but go with you,” 
said the girl. 

“That may not be, child,” was the reply. “Like 
the dear Lord, I have not where to lay my head, 
and what would I do with thee?” 

The sad tone in which these words were spoken 
brought a sympathetic look into the maid’s eyes, 
and, with a tearful “adios,” she turned away, 
while the soldier, shouldering his burden, 
marched off with his charge, the dog running on 
ahead. 


262 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW. 

Niear the Bay of Cadiz, opposite the city of 
that name, stood a little farm house, attached to 
which were a few acres of arable land. The 
house was built of stones of irregular sizes and 
shapes, and stood in the midst of a grove of 
orange and lemon trees. The air was sweet with 
the perfume of their blooms, and the ground be- 
neath the trees was white with the cast petals, of 
which there was a constant shower, like a light, 
continuous fall of snow. 

In the front room of the house sat an old 
woman spinning, while she listened to the sound 
of clashing swords, accompanied by the monot- 
onous chant of a man^s voice that came from an- 
other room, on the door of which a dog of the 
spaniel breed, lying at the old woman’s feet, kept 
a watchful, anxious eye. 

^‘One, two; right guard, left; front, point,” 
said the vo»ice, keeping time with the clang, 
clang, clang of the weapons. 

The dog got up and ran whining to the door 
of the room whence came these sounds. 

'‘Back, Carlos,” said the old woman; "lie down„ 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 26 J 

good dog; Rodrigo will ne’er do hurt to thy 
young master, so rest thee in peace.” 

But the dog was not satisfied, and kept run- 
ning to the door, scratching on it and looking 
down at the crack underneath it with his ears 
pricked, as dogs will do, while the voice of the 
man continued its chant in unison with the clang 
of the swords, ‘'One, two; one, two (clang, clang; 
clang, clang); right, left, point.” 

And the old woman continued her spinning, 
the breeze from the sea coming in at the window 
to play with her white hair and the white wool 
on her distaff; and so the arts of peace and war 
went on side by side. 

For some time this was kept up, much to the 
discomfort of the dog, and then the same voice 
that had been counting cried out, as the clash 
of swords suddenly ceased: 

“Well done, your senoria; ’twas a fair hit — that 
none can gainsay.” 

A few minutes later the door that the dog had 
been watching opened, and Rodrigo entered the 
room, followed by a young, beardless cavalier. 

“Ha, madre” said the soldier, “thou seest his 
senoria is learning apace; he will know the art of 
fence anon as well as his instructor.” 

“It rejoiceth me to hear it,” cried the old 
woman, “sith he must needs follow in the foot- 
steps of such an addle-pate as thou ; but I see no 
reason why he should go off on any such wild 
tramp as thou proposest at all, and ’tis shame to 


264 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

thee to lead a youth like him into such perils 
as he will surely encounter in yonder new coun- 
tries. Why, he hath not the shadow of a beard 
yet.” 

‘'Ne’er trouble thyself about the beard, 
inolher,” said Rodrigo, laughing. 

“And have no tremors on our account, good 
Dame Sanchez,” said the youth, blushing. “I 
doubt not thou shalt see us back safe in Spain 
again ere a score of months are come and gone. 
We but go in search of a truant — an elder 
brother of mine” — blushing again — “though 
should any adventures fall in our way, we shall 
not avoid them, because there may chance to be 
a zest of peril in them.” 

“Ay, there it is,” said Dame Sanchez; “ever 
ready to run into danger, when ’twould seem the 
wisest course to keep out of its way.” 

“Ho, madreT cried Rodrigo: “what new re- 
ligion is this thou preachest? Would you believe 
it, scfior, she is ever berating me for being naught 
better than a man-at-arms, as if ’twere the 
easiest thing i’ the world to climb to the topmost 
rung o’ the ladder an’ one only have a sword in 
his hand.” 

“And what’s to hinder a brave man grasping 
the highest reward offered for brave deeds, pri- 
thee?” asked the mother, suddenly changing her 
tune. 

“Other brave men more favored by fortune,” 
replied the son. 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 265 

‘Tut, tut, thou shouldst have been a priest, 
boy.^’ 

“And so I would have been, had it been left 
to thee and Father Bernabe, but, i' faith, I slipped 
through the fingers of both.” 

“And how much the better art thou to-day for 
itr’ 

“Little eno’, save that I have had mine own 
way, and that is something. But, as the proverb 
hath it, 'Change of pasture maketh fat calves,’ and 
having tried the old world without advantage to 
myself, I will e’en try the new one for better 
luck.” 

“Try what thou wilt on thine own behalf, boy,” 
said the dame, “but let Don Antonio remain in 
Spain; he hath not your years and experience 
— such as it is — and will scarce bear unscathed 
the hardships thou art tempting him to. And 
your little dog, senor/' turning to the youth, 
about whose welfare she was so solicitous, “it is 
so troubled when’er you have a bout with the 
swords: I’m sure it will die when you are gone.” 

“Ah, poor Carlos,” said Don Antonio, looking 
down affectionately at the little animal that had 
never ceased to evince its joy since the clashing 
of the swords had come to an end. 

“Poor Carlos, the fates decree that we must 
part, but I know I leave thee in good hands, 
for that Dame Sanchez will love thee I doubt 
not.” 


266 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

a surety will I/’ said Dame Sanchez. 

*'Dear little doggy/’ said the youth, stooping 
to pet Carlos on the head, ‘‘thou didst see a bout 
with swords once — a bout in real earnest — in 
which thou wert somewhat concerned thyself, 
and therefore art thou troubled when thou 
hearest the clangor of battle, even though it be 
mimic battle, for thou know’st not the differ- 
ence.” 

'‘A real bout, did you say, senorf** 

‘‘Ay, and a beautiful fight it was, but soon 
over.” 

“Ah! tell me about it,” pleaded the old woman, 
her eyes brightening; “’tis a pleasure in these 
dull times to hear tell of honest blows delivered 
with downright good will.” 

“An’ your senoria begin prating of battle and 
the like,” said Rodrigo, “the good mother will 
keep your tongue wagging by the hour.” 

“Sith my story is a short one,” said Don An- 
tonio, “I will tell it, I trow. Thou seest, ma4re, 
there were two rogues ” 

“Two rogues, senorf* 

“Ay, two rogues said I, who lay in wait to en- 
trap a poor, little partridge.” 

“A partridge, your senoria 

“Ay, a partridge said I — a silly wench, I 

mean ” 

“Ah!” 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 267 

''Who knew no better than to be running about 
i’ the woods alone. And they would have car- 
ried her off — God knoweth where — had not a 
noble cavalier come to the rescue just i’ the nick 
o’ time, and set upon them with such good will 
that the rogues were fain to relinquish their prey, 
and leave it to — ah ! thou shouldst have seen this 
cavalier, dame; the noblest he that eye of 
woman e’er looked on in this poor world of ours.’^ 

"I doubt it not, I doubt it not,” cried the old 
woman, excitedly; "methinks I see him now, 
laying on with might and main, the rogues 
giving ground, then flying. Ah, a noble cavalier 
indeed — but was your senoria there?” 

"Ah — nay, dame — not in my present 
presence,” said the youth, with embarrassment 
and heightening color, "I heard tell of it from 
one who saw it.” 

"But the dog — of a surety you said the dog 
was there.” 

"Aye, and took part i’ the fray — Brave Car- 
los !” toying with the dog’s ears. 

"Then the dog ” 

^‘Basta, madre miaT cried Rodrigo; "weary 
not the senor Antonio with so much questioning. 
Thou hast heard all there is to tell, and let that 
suffice thee.” 

* * He * ♦ ♦ 

Nanatonah, who had already begun to mend 
before Don Julio Hernandez visited her, when 
removed to better quarters, with the surgeon and 


268 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

Father Lorenzo, the priest, to look after her well- 
being, improved so rapidly that she was soon 
out and about the camp, though she walked with 
a halt in her gait. 

She made no effort to escape to the woods, 
and when Don Julio proposed that she go back 
to her people, hoping through her to re-establish 
peaceful relations with them, she fell on her 
knees at his feet and, putting his hand on the top 
of her head, said, ‘‘Nanatonah is Tobincha’s 
slave — she will obey him, but when she leaveth 
him she goeth out into the darkness of night.” 

So she went, sorrowfully enough, loaded 
with presents for the chiefs and their wives, and 
what with these and her marvelous tales of the 
beautiful god-man, as she called the cavalier, 
accomplished her mission, coming back accom- 
panied by an embassy of warriors, which met 
with a very different reception from that which 
had been accorded the one that had waited on 
Rossi. 

Once more the camp was enlivened by the 
presence of the aborigines, who brought gifts 
of game and maize, and such wild fruits as the 
woods afforded. Some of them brought beautiful 
peltry and dressed hides for “the good white 
chief,’’ as they learned to call Don Julio; and 
from this he conceived the idea of carrying a 
cargo of these things back to Spain. 

In the meantime the caravel had been over- 
hauled and prepared for a voyage to Vera Cruz, 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 26^ 

whither he intended to send all who desired to 
go; for he had become aware that a few of the 
old garrison — led by Rossi and Gonzales — were 
dissatisfied with the existing state of affairs. 

The vessel was ready to sail, only waiting for 
a supply of fresh water to be put aboard, when 
one of the sailors, who had climbed up in the 
lookout to see if the boat that h?ri gone up the 
river to procure it, was in sights came hastily 
down to report two ships under full press of 
sail outside the island — ^the one apparently chas- 
ing the other. 

‘'Canst tell to what nations they belong?’’' 
asked the senor Hernandez. 

''Methinks the one that is being chased is a 
Spanish galleon, senor , replied the sailor. 

'Then must we go to her rescue,” said Don 
Julio. "Come, let us hasten aboard 'La Espe- 
ranza’ or our countrymen will be the cap- 
tives of some freebooter. Get our trustiest men 
together quickly and marshal them on the 
beach,” to a young soldier who served under him 
as lieutenant. 

One of the caravel’s boats, as already inti- 
mated, had gone up the river to get the suppty 
of water needful for the proposed voyage to 
Vera Cruz, but with the other, and the old one 
belonging to the wrecked galleon, which, though 
somewhat leaky, was still serviceable, the sol- 
diers required for the expedition were soon em- 


5)0 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


barked, when the anchor was lifted and the 
sail set. 

Nanatonah, seldom out of sight of Don Julio, 
whom she regarded with a reverential love, had 
seen with concern these preparations for de- 
parture, and she now stood on the beach, looking 
after the receding ship with aching heart and 
tearful eyes. She thought her hero — her god had 
gone from her forever. 

She had withdrawn from the little crowd that 
had gathered to witness the departure of the ex- 
pedition, and was alone, but in a few minutes 
Rossi stood beside her. She knew he was there 
— she felt his presence, as one instinctively feels 
the presence of something evil, but she did not 
look around, nor seem to heed him in any way. 

‘Thou hast given him what thou didst deny 
to me,” he said; “but to him thou are naught. 
He careth not for thee, and I did love thee. Ah 
God! I hate him, and will be avenged. Dost 
hear? An’ he put foot on these sands again he 
shall die, and his blood be upon thy head!” 

He leaned over so that his lips came close to 
her ear, speaking between his teeth, as though 
he feared, should he open his mouth, he would 
shout his words with all the vehemence that he 
felt them, pointing, with shaking hand, to the 
caravel. 

“Dost hear?’^ he repeated; but she made no 
sign, and, with a muttered curse, he left her. 

The vessel was half way across the sound 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 2Jl 

when the booming of cannon was heard coming 
from the other side of the island. 

A Spanish galleon, the “Buena Ventura,’' of 
Cadiz, in trying to escape from one of those 
English sea-rovers so plentiful on the high seas 
at that time, whose captains held commissions 
issued by authority of England’s sovereign, but 
were no better than pirates — thieves, who were 
knighted for their success in the science of 
stealing — had run to the northward until sighting 
this unknown coast and finding her passage 
barred in that direction, she came about on a 
westerly tack, her commander trusting, should 
he find it impossible to escape, to slip into some 
inlet and put his people ashore, when it was his 
intention to burn his ship rather than she should 
become the prize of the foe that the Spaniard 
hated above all others on the face of the earth. 

The two ships were of nearly equal speed, but 
the distance between them had gradually dimin- 
ished, and unless some accident should disable 
the pursuer it was very evident she would even- 
tually overtake the pursued. 

Among those standing on the deck of the 
“Buena Ventura” was a short, heavily built man- 
at-arms and a slim, beardless youth. 

“Think’st thou yon corsair will overtake us, 
Rodrigo?” asked the youth. 

“It looketh that way now, senor/' replied Rod- 
rigo. “The captain saith if he can keep her at 
a safe distance till the nightfall we may escape. 


272 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


but, were I he, Td ne’er turn tail and run like a 
dog at sight of an enemy.” 

''What wouldst thou do, then?” 

"Do, your senoria! Why, sooth, Fd stand up 
like a man and fight for my own. But your trader 
is ever afraid of getting a hole in his skin, so he 
either runneth away or giveth up all he hath to 
the first rogue who demandeth his purse. There! 
she is sending a shot after us,” as the first wreath 
of white smoke appeared on the bow of the 
stranger, followed almost immediately by the 
report of the gun; "but she is too far away yet.” 

The Englishman, however, did not seem to 
think so, for he continued at short intervals to 
throw shot from his bow chaser, each one of 
which came nearer and nearer the mark. 

^^Carambar exclaimed the soldier, "he will 
reach us ere long an’ we do not make better 
use of our heels, which, I fear me, we cannot. 
But what is our captain doing?” as the galleon 
coming about gave a lurch that made him 
stagger. "Ah!” turning to look ahead, "he is 
entering this strait, and he knoweth naught as 
to whither it leadeth. Santa Maria! he may find 
himself in what the Frenchman calleth a cul-de- 
sac, and then must he fight or surrender, for he 
can fly no further.” 

The galleon had a gun mounted on her poop, 
and the Spanish captain now began to return the 
fire of his pursuers. 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 273 

''BuenosT cried Rodrigo, ‘'he’s a dog of some 
metal, after all. Methought he was going to let 
yon rogue do all the barking. Ha! well aimed, 
my chicken. Did the piece carry somewhat 
further, we might cripple him.” 

And so the chase continued into the sound — 
without damage on either side for some time — 
those engaged in the contest being so busy with 
each other that the approach of a caravel, rapidly 
overhauling them, was unnoticed. 

But the Englishman gradually gained on the 
Spaniard until his shot began to fall in dangerous 
proximity. 

^'CarambaT cried Rodrigo, “the guns of those 
heretics always carry better than ours, and I fear 
me we shall have our wings clipped ere we go 
much further.” 

The words were scarcely out of his mouth 
when a shot struck the mizzenmast of the gal- 
leon, which fell over the side of the vessel, drag- 
ging in the water by the shrouds; and before the 
wreckage could be cleared away the enemy was 
alongside. 

But the Spanish captain had no idea of tamely 
giving up his ship. His blood was up, and, call- 
ing on the soldiers and sailors to sitand by him, 
he met the English, sword in hand, as they came 
swarming over the bulwarks. 

Blows and battle-cries — “Saint George for 
England!” “Saint lago for Spain” — now sounded 

z8 


274 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

on every side, and to these were added the voices 
of several priests, who, standing in the melee, 
called loudly on the saints. 

Rodrigo and Don Antonio stood near each 
other engaged in combat with two burly sailors, 
when a tall young Saxon, blue-eyed, with a pro- 
fusion of yellow curls flowing over his shoulders, 
pushed the latter's antagonist aside and took his 
place. Crossing swords with the young Span- 
iard, and standing thus on guard, he addressed 
him in his own language. 

‘'You are somewhat weary, senor/' he said; 
“will you rest a little ere we have a bout?" 

“Nay, nay," cried the youth, flushed with ex- 
citement; “come on! come on! Saint lago for 
Spain!" 

“Saint George for England, then!" said the 
other, and they began to fight. 

The affair might have ended badly for the 
Spaniard, who was no match for his foe, had not 
an accident turned the tide in his favor. Rodrigo, 
hotly pressing the man who had engaged him, 
drove him against the other with such force as 
to throw him off his guard, and at that moment 
Don Antonio, making a lunge, his sword passed 
under the arm of his antagonist and went 
through his body, the point striking the back- 
piece of his cuirass. Even this would not have 
happened had not the Englishman, losing his 
balance, been thrown forward on the point of the 
weapon. 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 275 

And now was seen a strange revulsion of feel- 
ing in the young cavalier, whose prowess thus 
far had won the admiration of friend and foe 
alike. 

The wounded man fell heavily to the deck, and 
the other looked at the bloody weapon he held in 
his hand with horror, 

DiosT he cried, throwing it from him and 
going down on his knees beside his fallen foe, 
‘Vhat have I done ! Santa Maria mia! How his 
blood floweth apace. Rodrigo! Rodrigo! come 
hither, amigo, and help me stay it, ere his life 
ebb away,’’ and, tearing a scarf from his own 
shoulders, he tried to bind it about the wound, 
tears flowing from his eyes like rain. 

The combatants in that immediate neighbor- 
hood had ceased fighting to look and marvel at 
what they saw, when there came a cry of alarm 
from the English ship, followed by a crash, as 
the caravel came alongside, and a fresh band of 
Spaniards — led by one who looked the imper- 
sonation of the young god of war — leaped over 
the bulwarks, with flashing blades making their 
way to the deck of the galleon. 

The English fought stubbornly, many prefer- 
ring rather to die than surrender, but the odds 
against them were too great, and it was not long 
ere all of them who were not dead were prisoners. 

The young cavalier who had led the rescuing 
party, seeking the captain of the galleon, came 


2^6 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

upon Rodrigo and Don Antonio standing over 
the prostrate form of the fair-haired young 
Saxon. He started with surprise when he recog- 
nized the man-at-arms. 

''Rodrigo!’’ he exclaimed; "is it thou, man?” 

"Ay, senor/^ replied Rodrigo, " ’tis I, sure 
enough; and thankful am I that it hath pleased 
fate to lead us into this trap sith here we find 
that we were seeking.” 

"What meanest thou?” 

"Why, just this — look up, your senoria/* to his 
young companion, who kept his eyes fixed on 
the deck — "this young caballero and I sailed from 
Cadiz, conceiving ’twere an easy matter to find 
one we sought in this new world; for, you must 
know, senor, we were simple enough to think we 
had but to ask for this one or that one, and 
straightway be told he is here or he is there.” 

"But why didst thou leave Seville, Rodrigo?” 
asked Don Julio. "Surely, thou hast not left thy 
charge without good reason.” 

"There have been some mishaps since your de- 
parture from that same city, senor/* replied the 
soldier. 

"Mishaps?” repeated the cavalier, anxiously. 
"Speak on, man; an’ thou art the bearer of evil 
tidings what availeth this dallying?” 

"Look up, your senoria'' said Rodrigo again 
to the youth standing beside him, "look up.” 

"O, my lord!’ cried Don Antonio, lifting his 
eyes and holding out his hands toward Don 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 277 

Julio, who now looked at him for the first time, 
“dost thou not know me?'' 

“Antonia, muy amataT cried the sehor Her- 
nandez, opening wide his arms to receive her into 
them, “thou here, too?" 

“Where else should she be and your senoria 
and Rodrigo Sanchez here?" said Rodrigo. 

“And the old man: what of him?" 

The soldier pointed significantly to Antonia, 
who lay weeping in the cavalier's arms. 

“He hath suffered," she murmured, having 
heard the question. 

“Then will he suffer no more," said Don Julio; 
“so dry thy tears, love." 

“ 'Tis long sith I have shed a tear for him," 
she replied; “for though my heart doth bleed 
whene'er I think of him, of what avail are tears? 
But look, my lord," starting up from his arms, 
and pointing to the man stretched at their feet, 
“see there, what I have done with mine own 
hand." 

“Thou, Antonia? Did thy weak hand lay 
that tall fellow low?" 

“That did it," said Rodrigo, before Antonia 
could reply, “and though the senorita doth grieve 
at her own handiwork, beshrew me, but I think 
she hath done the state most excellent service, 
for that same knave was captain of yon band of 
rogues." 

“For shame, Rodrigo!" said Antonia. “How 
canst thou speak so? One would think thee hard 
of heart." 


278 A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 

‘‘But Rodrigo is right, Antonia,'’ said Don 
Julio. 

“Right I am,” said Rodrigo, “and hard of 
heart I am to boot for such freebooters as he. 
My heart, which is bread to the honest and weak,, 
is a stone to all scurvy rogues — ^^ay, a very flint 
stone.” 

The cavalier laughed. “Hast had some in- 
struction in Holy Writ, methinks, Rodrigo,” he 
said. 

“Ay, sooth, senor/' replied the soldier. 
“Father Bernabe took care of that. He would 
have made a priest of me, but I left him snoring 
in his bed one moonlight night; and when he set 
eyes on me again I was no longer a cockerel, and 
he was too old a capon to cut my comb for me.” 

While the deck was being cleared, the dead 
consigned to the deep, the wounded distributed 
among the several ships, Antonia retired to the 
cabin of the galleon, reappearing in time attired 
in the vesture of a Spanish lady, a change that 
scarcely attracted notice, there being several 
females aboard, who had been shut up in the 
cabin during the progress of the fight. She bore 
a burden of some weight in her hands which 
she cast into the sea. “There,” she said, “sink 
out of my sight. Never more will Antonia case 
herself in steel, and God assoil her soul that she 
did ever so affront her body! Distaff and spindle 
for her were fitter tools than sword and 
dudgeon." 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


279 


When the three ships arrived at the anchorage 
opposite the camp, night had already set in, but 
the commandante, getting into a boat, went 
ashore, accompanied by Rodrigo and Antonia, 
and as they stepped on the beach they looked 
upon a scene strange to the eyes of the latter. 
An assemblage of steel-clad soldiers and half- 
naked savages, some of whom carried flaring 
torches, came down the slope to meet them. 

Scarcely, however, had these had time to 
welcome their commander, looking wonderingly 
at his fair companion, when there was some com- 
motion in the rear of the group, and Gonzales, 
followed by several of the old garrison, pushed 
his way to the front, dragging Nawatonah with 
him. Throwing a tomahawk on the sand at Don 
Julio’s feet, he said, ^^Look, senor, and say what 
shall be done with the murderess.” 

‘‘Murderess,” repeated the cavalier; “what 
meanest thou?” 

“That this woman hath murdered el senor 
Rossi — naught else.” 

“This girl?” 

“Girl, an’t please you, senor, but, of a truth, 
devil in girl’s skin.” 

“What hast thou to say in thine own justifica- 
tion, Nawatonah?” asked Don Julio, turning to 
the Indian. 

“He was Tobincha’s enemy, and Nawatonah 
slew him,” was the simple reply. 

“Thou dost admit thy guilt then?” 


28 o 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 


^'Nawatonah cannot lie to Tobincha.^’ 

The cavalier looked troubled. ^'We will in- 
quire into this matter further to-morrow/’ he 
said; ^^meanwhile set a watch over her, but use 
her not harshly.” 

‘"And surely,” said Antonia, '^her bonds may 
be loosed” — ithe captives arms were bound with 
cords unnecessarily tight, it seemed: ‘^see how 
her poor arms are cut and swollen.” 

The Indian turned to the direction whence 
came this voice so full of sweet sympathy, and 
for the first time her eyes rested on the mag- 
nificent beauty of the white woman. The vision, 
for such it was to her — startled her out of her 
composure, and, gazing like one dazed, be- 
wildered, she scarcely seemed aware that her 
arms were being unbound until she found them 
free, when, lifting them with painful difficulty, 
she stretched them above her head. Perhaps this 
was done in an effort to relieve tihem of the 
numb, dead feeling produced by the ligatures 
that had so long confined them; perhaps to in- 
voke the aid of the Great Spirit, so much needed 
in this, the hour of her extremity. When they 
dropped to her side again she sped away like an 
arrow on its errand of death, with the sinuous 
movements of the serpent, eluding them who 
would have stayed her, and disappearing in the 
darkness. 

Flashes of phosphorescent light marked her 
course through the water as she fled out into the 


A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL. 281 

sound, her voice rising on the night breeze, 
chanting the death song of her people — at first 
clear and distinct, but gradually growing fainter 
and fainter, until at last it was merged in the 
misereries that the sea ever chants over its dead. 


THE END. 




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